Collision of Worlds
by mar-map
Summary: Arthur Kirkland finds himself in the care of Alfred F. Jones when the two meet under abnormal circumstances, are chased by the police, and find themselves at the top of the most wanted list.
1. Brilliance

(**Disclaimer: **I do not claim to own Hetalia: Axis Powers in any way.)

_7:23 a.m, Friday, Washington, D.C._

The recently turned red light earned a groan of displeasure from the blond driver. At this rate he was going to be late for work. The Washington traffic had really caught up with him today.

Suddenly, as if coming out of the air, a bike sped by him. The bike wove through blaring horns and oncoming traffic. The man behind the wheel was glad he wasn't the bicyclist. That man must have been extremely late.

He was. Alfred F. Jones, closest friend to the President, was late for a meeting at the White House. He looked down and cursed at the numbers shinning at him from his watch. The President was going to kill him. Well, if the Washington traffic didn't take care of the job first.

Alfred pulled up to the gates outside the building. He fished around hurriedly for his wallet which contained his pass for the gate's guards. All the men were stiff and despite the fact that he came on his bike every day and knew them all by name, they wouldn't let him through without his pass. Dread began to sink in when he came out empty. How could he lose that?

"The President is expecting you, Mr. Jones. Let him in." The Captain of the Secret Service waved to the doormen to open the gates and let the bicyclist through.

"Thanks, Ron," Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. When the gates opened, Alfred walked his bike through.

"President's orders. You're late for the meeting. I suggest you hurry before you miss anything else, Mr. Jones." Well, wasn't he always just a wonderful breath of fresh air? The Captain was not helping Alfred's already frazzled mood any.

The man insisted on walking him to the meeting room - not that Alfred didn't know where it was. He hardly waited for Alfred to stop and lock up his bike outside, and while he did, he waited impatiently. The President had been kind enough to install the bike parking for Alfred's lonely bike when he constantly refused to buy a car - he had no where to put it - or be chauffeured around - he didn't want to have to rely on someone.

The Secret Service agent opened the door for him, and Alfred scurried inside. He kept close to the wall to avoid detection - though that was a fool's task - until he noticed the room was unusually quiet for a meeting, and the President was the only one in the room.

"The meeting, sir?" Alfred asked sheepishly. He readjusted the papers in his arms. They had been threatening to tumble since he had left his apartment in his hurry. It would be a surprise if he hadn't lost a few pages of documents on the precarious commute to the White House.

"I canceled it."

Alfred smiled nervously. The President certainly wouldn't cancel a meeting simply because of his absence. Right? Of course. Alfred was just a personal assistant. He knew the President relied on him for many things, but being a fundamental component for a meeting was not one of them. Right?

"Sir?"

"We have guests arriving in a few hours. I needed an open schedule to cater to our guests. I would appreciate it if you could do the same, Alfred." The President studied his steeped fingers calmly. "It's a request, of course, not an obligation."

"Who's coming?"

"I'm not allowed to disclose that information. The matter is of the highest security. I understand if you're prefer to take the week off and stay home however. The following few days could be very dangerous ones for everyone involved."

"I'm not going home. We stick together, right?" It was a rhetorical question really. Of course they did.

This announcement seemed to be a large relief for the President. His shoulders sagged, and he leaned back in his chair comfortably. "Thank you, Alfred," he breathed. "This is a very small operation. Only those that need to know do, so please, keep it a secret."

"Of course!"

The President smiled gently. "Thank you, Alfred," he repeated. "Now go clean yourself up. We have company coming."

"I can ditch the briefcase?"

A chuckle came form the President's lips. "Ditch the briefcase," he nodded. Before Alfred could ask, the President added, "Not the suit. You'll be entertaining one of our guests. He has a similar position as you. I need you to be nice, Alfred, even if that means wearing the suit all the time."

An exaggerated sigh left Alfred's lips. "I suppose I can do that." He winked. "I'll go straighten myself up and be back here in an hour."

The President stopped him when the tips of his fingers touched the door's polished, brass knobs. "I do mean for you to straighten yourself up, Alfred, not lounge around until the last minute. This is important to me."

"Aye, aye, chief!" Alfred saluted playfully while the President just rolled his eyes. The man waved him out, and Alfred was happy to oblige. He shut the door quietly behind himself. The President could do with some time alone.

Ron Butcher, Captain of the Secret Service, was across the hall, smirking. Apparently he'd been lurking around outside for the duration of Alfred's talk with the President. "How did your chat go?" Seriously, Ron had it out for him, of that Alfred was sure. If the President didn't like him so much, Ron would find out jut how much Alfred didn't like him.

"Quite pleasant," Alfred smiled. "Awesome really."

"Well, that's quite a relief. I would hate to think he'd fired you," Ron said. He turned on his shinning black shoes and sauntered away. Strutting about like he did, someone would think he owned the place.

Alfred stuck out his tongue at the Captain's back. All right, fine, that had been a bit childish. Ron had started it anyway. He didn't have to officially be an adult for another hour anyway.

_10:23 a.m., Friday, London, England_

The young lady with the trolley stopped at the next row. She offered her goods to the family before moving on. "Can I get you anything?" she asked politely.

"An Earl Grey," the British man answered. He rubbed his temples wearily. Plane rides always made him like this. He hoped they wouldn't be traveling very far. Arthur Kirkland, special friend of the Queen's, glanced over at her. She had fallen asleep almost immediately after the plane had left the ground.

The American woman handed him a full glass. She smiled at him and winked. He failed to notice her flirtations and the disappointed look when he turned away form her. He was too focused on his queen. She hardly looked like herself anymore. She was just like so many other, regular people.

"Excuse me?" Arthur stopped the trolley before it could move on to the next row. She seemed more than happy to have finally gained his attention. "Where is our destination?"

The attendant looked surprised. She laughed. "Across the pond!" she exclaimed in an incredibly cheesy imitation of his own, natural accent. Arthur simply stared at her blankly. "To America," she added in a calmer, almost embarrassed voice. "The capital to be exact."

"The capital? The _American_ capital?" He needed a drink and something stronger than tea. The tea, he found out, was cold anyway. "Why are we needed in the bloody _American _capital?" The attendant sighed when Arthur paid her no more mind. This was going to be a long flight.

* * *

><p>"Arthur? Wake up, dear."<p>

Arthur groaned in annoyance. His head ached. "Let me help you, ma'am," he said nevertheless. He took the bag from her hands, using his other hand to carry his own. He filed down the isle after the disembarking passengers.

"I'm not helpless, Arthur," the Queen protested. "I can carry my own things." She pouted lightly and crossed her arms over her chest. Her voice held little conviction in it however, and her protests were only half-hearted.

Arthur smiled back at her with a bit of amusement. "You're carrying your purse, ma'am," Arthur replied patiently. He allowed her to walk before him as they exited the plane. The Englishman watched people as they walked by. Hardly anyone spared the couple a second glance. "Will there be someone here to retrieve us, ma'am?"

"You may stop with the formalities, Arthur, we're in the states now. The beautiful United States of America." She smiled pleasantly back at the Englishman following her. He couldn't help but notice the affectionate tone she held when speaking of the country they were presently in. "Don't look so sour! This should be fun. It'll be like a large vacation."

"We're here for a vacation?" Arthur asked incredulously. The blond nearly dropped his bags in surprise. Vacation? He'd never had a real vacation before. The Queen deserved them, of course, with all the pressure she was constantly under. Arthur was simply humbled that he had been brought along with her.

"You're here for vacation. There will be a bit of work for me unfortunately." The Queen frowned a bit. "The accommodations also are not what I wish for you to have while we are here, but I did manage to a arrange a tour guide for you."

"Ma'am?"

"I'll have business to attend to."

* * *

><p>"Tea, ma'am?"<p>

"That would be lovely, Arthur, thank you."

The White House, their destination, had welcomed them graciously. Charles Damien, Captain of the Royal Guard, had met them at the front gates and had been with them ever since.

"Down the left hall there's a conference room to the right. There's a small kitchenette there you may use," the President said evenly. He smiled pleasantly at the blond Englishman.

"Thank you, sir," Arthur nodded politely to the President. The blond Englishman paused beside the single present member of the Royal Guard. He hardly trusted these bloody _Americans _to watch after his Queen. After all, if something were to happen to her it would most certainly be their doing.

Charles didn't even bother to look at the much shorter blond. Rather, he remained impassive. "Don't worry about her highness," the guard said softly so they were the only two privy to the conversation. "Worry about yourself instead. She's in good hands. I can't watch over the both of you at once."

That was fair enough. Charles wouldn't allow for harm to come to the Queen while he had the power to stop it. Arthur, on the other hand, would be putting himself in harms way by leaving the guard's vicinity. The Queen certainly wouldn't have taken him anywhere dangerous. Right?

Arthur left the room quietly. The door shut after him with a gentle click. The Englishman looked in both directions with a sigh. There was no point in going back inside now. After all, the atmosphere of the room had been awkward enough as it was. He had promised the Queen a cup of tea too, and he could use a calming one himself.

Arthur followed the President's instructions carefully until reaching the kitchenette he'd been directed too. The halls he walked through were completely deserted. Arthur wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried. "Excuse me," Arthur apologized. "I didn't know the room was already occupied."

"No worries, there's plenty of room in here." The American blond whom Arthur had intruded on smirked brightly. He used his hands to push himself up onto the counter. "So who are you? What do you do?"

The Englishman resisted an irritated scowl. Enough years in politics back home had allowed him to do that. He had to put up a good face for his Queen, right? He set a pan boiling on the small oven while he rummaged through the full cupboards for any signs of tea. "What makes you think that I haven't worked here for years?"

"I know everyone who works here!" the American boasted. Well, he had no semblance of humility. "Anyway, I'd remember someone with such an awesome accent." The blond's smile just widened at the eye-roll he received from the Englishman. "And someone as hot. Well, for an old man."

An indignant sputter came from Arthur's lips. He turned on the American, and he could feel his cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment. Emerald eyes glared over at the cheeky twat frostily. Who did he think he was talking too? Sure, Arthur was probably older but not by more than a few years.

After a pregnant pause where Arthur averted his eyes back into the cupboards for the missing tea, it occurred to him that he should probably take into account the true situation. He was in a small kitchenette, he was alone with a strange American, and he was hot - apparently.

"So you're..." Arthur coughed in embarrassment for having brought the topic back up. He could feel the blush darkening on his cheeks, and he was glad he was facing away from the other man.

"Gay?" the American questioned easily. Arthur allowed himself a glance furtively over at the blond American. He was smiling gently. "Yeah." His grin turned a bit sheepish. "Didn't mean to make you feel awkward or anything. I forget sometimes..."

"Well, you're sexual preferences really are none of my business," Arthur blushed. He poured the boiling water over the tea bags he had recently found up in the cupboards. "Nor is that a respectable conversation topic."

Nevertheless, the Englishman's words didn't seem to deter the other blond at all. "So you're not gay then?"

"Of course not!" Arthur flushed deeply again. "What makes you-"

The other blond carried on as if he hadn't heard the Englishman. "'Cause, you know, I just recently found out that I wasn't attracted to women. I thought maybe you'd like to go out for a drink sometime?"

Arthur didn't dare look at the other. He felt a nauseating lurch in his chest. He was being hit-on? Arthur couldn't remember that last time someone had asked him out on a date or even just out for a drink like the other had suggested. Would it really be so bad to accept? Yes, of course it would, he reasoned, he wasn't interested in other men. He'd just be leading the poor twat of an American along.

"Aww, man!" the American exclaimed loudly. Arthur looked at him a bit nervously. What was happening now? The blond pounded his hand against his head. "I'm so late! I'll see you around!"

The American was in a flurry to get his things all gathered together. He took a large swallow of his brewed coffee before hurrying out of the small kitchenette. Arthur noted that he left with two coffee cups in hand.

The bloody American hadn't even left his name. _'You're fine, Arthur, old boy,'_ he told himself, '_no need to get worked up over the bloody twat.'_ Arthur couldn't understand the almost guilty pangs in his chest.

Arthur quickly added a bit of sugar to the tea before preparing for the voyage back to the uncomfortable conference room. He knew if he put it off too much longer the tea would begin to cool. The charged secrecy of the conference room was not something the Englishman was looking forward to returning to.

Eight years had passed since Arthur had become a private aid to the Queen. He had been a young delinquent at the time. Nothing had been a greater thrill for him then going to parties and playing his music loudly.

Age seventeen had found a youthful Arthur searching for any trouble he could find. This need for danger had led Arthur to sneak into a government building with the intent of finding a couch to pass out on for the night.

When the Royal Guard found the intruder, he was already on his second cup of sobering tea with the Queen. The two of them had been having a rather engaging conversation about the nature of the plant and its wondrous properties.

The Queen had hired him the next day for the simple task of being her best friend. He had no political ties or obligations making him the perfect person to administer advise.

Being withheld information from her now was unnerving. He was the only one she told anything and everything to. If she wasn't even telling him what they were doing in America, who could she trust?

"Your tea, ma'am," he told her quietly. He set the plastic glass carefully on the table before her.

"Thank you, Arthur," she smiled.

Arthur took a long, calming drink from his own glass immediately after. The Englishman resisted the urge to pucker in disgust at the unaccustomed taste. It wasn't a familiar kind he personally would have indulged in.

"Arthur," the Queen smiled at him, "I'd like you to meet Alfred. You'll be staying with him while we're in America. He's your guild to Washington as well."

Arthur caught the sight of cerulean eyes and coughed in surprise. The blond set his drink down quickly as not to spill any of the hot liquid inside. The Queen looked over at him in relative concern for his well-being.

This man had flirted with him earlier. He could now put a name with the man, however. _Alfred_ had flirted with him earlier.

"I'm sure the two of you will get along brilliantly." Apparently the Queen couldn't feel the awkward vibrations echoing through the room. Apparently neither could Alfred. The American stuck out his hand from across the table. Arthur took it stiffly with a tight smile to accompany it.

"Alfred F. Jones, adviser to the President!"

"Arthur Kirkland, aid to the Queen," the Englishman supplied.

"So you're like the British me!"

Oh, yes, they would get along brilliantly.


	2. Unexpected Strength

(**Disclaimer: **I do not claim to own Hetalia: Axis Powers in any way.)

It had been an hour since their arrival in the White House. The tea on the table had long since grown cold, but it really hadn't been much of a waste. The taste hadn't been too pleasing. The unnerving atmosphere hadn't diminished much in the past minutes.

The Queen and President were speaking causally back and forth, and Arthur was starting to get the feeling that the two of them had been in contact for quite some time now. The President's knowledge of the Queen's personal life seemed to go back quite far, a few years at least. How could Arthur have not known the two of them were in contact? What else had the Queen been keeping from him?

The blond American, Alfred, was sitting across the small table from Arthur and was positively jumpy. His bright smile had long ago turned into an uncomfortable expression, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair every few minutes. Arthur wondered if the lad ever kept still.

The President paused to smile at the two aids. "Alfred, why don't you take Arthur out for something to eat? I'm sure he could use something of that nature after his long flight. Lunch, perhaps?" The President smiled at Arthur in particular.

The Englishman didn't want to admit it, but the notion of food did sound quite tantalizing. He hadn't eaten this morning with their flight and all, and it was well past the time that he normally ate back in Britain. A normal glance at his watch reminded him that he needed to reset it to the time in America.

"Sir, it's only ten..." Alfred said. His fidgeting stopped when the President decided to turn his attention to the two of them. It was possible the talking had been unnerving the American, or maybe he wasn't used to sitting in on meetings. Arthur was used to the long conversations and staying quiet while other's spoke.

"But it's afternoon over in the United Kingdom," the President informed Alfred. "I'm sure you can still find somewhere to eat at this time. Feel no need to hurry back. Maybe you can show Arthur around the city a bit. There's no need for the two of you to return tonight. We'll just be going over uninteresting political things after all."

Political things? Uninteresting? The words only made the need to stay even stronger. Arthur wasn't about to leave the Queen here alone to go over politics alone. Well, she did have Charles, but that wasn't exactly the kind of support she would need going over politics. "Ma'am, I really must insist that I stay," the Englishman told his leader.

The Queen waved her aid off instantly. "There's no reason for you to stay, Arthur. I will see you bright and early here again in the morning. There's no reason for you to worry." She smiled at him as if the gesture was supposed to calm him down and win him over. It didn't work for a second.

"Ma'am-"

"Off you go, Arthur, I'll see you tomorrow."

"But certain-"

"Arthur," she warned. The Queen was always patient with him, but now a bit of warning was hinted in her tone. Despite wanting to stay, he knew that the Queen wouldn't allow such a thing. He could always stay outside the door until she emerged when she'd finished whatever business she had with the President, but the blond was pretty sure that the President's Secret Service wouldn't allow him to do such a thing.

Arthur had no pass or identification on him. If Alfred decided to go off on his own, Arthur would be left alone in the hall. When Secret Service came upon him, he'd be lucky to simply be removed from the building and not thrown in prison. With no way to contact anyone he'd be left there for months, possibly years. Nothing about that sounded particularly appealing.

"Call me if you need anything, ma'am," Arthur sighed, finally giving in to her request. The Queen smiled in relief that she wouldn't have to persuade him anymore. The Englishman stood from his seat to find that Alfred was already waiting for him at the door. A resigned sigh came from his lips. "Watch out for her, Charles," Arthur whispered quietly to the Royal Guard agent as he passed him by the door.

There was no perceptible notice from the other man that he had heard what the small aid had said. Arthur knew that Charles had heard, however, and he hadn't even needed to say the words. Charles was just as dedicated to the Queen as Arthur himself was. She was more important to Charles than the United Kingdom itself. The Queen was in fine hands with the guard.

"Man, I'm glad we're out of there!" Alfred exclaimed as soon as the door shut behind him. Arthur made a slight noise of agreement. He was pleased to be away from the uncomfortable room, but he didn't like being away from the Queen for too long. Not to mention, he still couldn't help but feel out of the loop of what was happening. "What's up with you, Mr. Grumpy?" Alfred felt the need to prod his shoulder when he asked the question.

Arthur scowled genuinely as he lashed out at the American's hand. "Don't touch me, git. We're just here for business, Mr. Jones, and I'd prefer you left it as such. Doesn't it bother you leaving your boss alone?" That's when it occurred to him. The Queen had Charles watching over her, but the President had allowed himself to be left alone with two high-ranking members of Britain. The President must have been a brave man, not that either the Queen or Charles would do anything to him.

"Not really," Alfred answered as he wove his way through the halls of the White House. Alfred really did know his way around. Arthur wondered how long he had been working with the President. Had it been longer than the other man's term or was Alfred an old friend? There was quite a few years between the President and Alfred - if Arthur was allowed to estimate - but there was a fair amount between himself and the Queen as well. "He can take care of himself. Anyway, Ron's around here somewhere. I don't like the guy personally, but I guess he's pretty good at what he does."

"Ron?"

"He's Captain of the Secret Service," Alfred explained. Arthur nodded to him. The Englishman knew he probably should have known that bit of information. Even though he had never expected to come to America - especially on business - he knew many things about countries that Britain had strong ties too.

"What do you want to eat then?" Alfred asked the Englishman when they exited the white, regal building. Alfred led Arthur through the lawn and toward the far gates.

Arthur followed the American always keeping a few steps behind the other. "We're not eating here?" questioned the Englishman. Truthfully it probably should have occurred to him that they wouldn't be saying in the vincity of the White House, but it still unnerved him to actually be walking further away from the Queen. The President had told them to do a bit of sight-seeing as well, which definitely should have been a cue that they would be leaving the White House property.

"I suppose we can if you want." Slowly the American came to a stop. He looked at the short man with an odd smile on his face. "Do you want to eat here?" Arthur couldn't help but finally examine the American. Even in the small kitchenette he hadn't really paid too much attention. He'd been too embarrassed in the kitchenette, and in the conference room he'd been too focused on the leaders.

The American was quite tall. Actually, now that the other blond had stopped it was quite obvious how much taller that he was than Arthur himself. His cerulean eyes were bright even behind his wire frames. Arthur couldn't help but wonder what he would look like without those frames obstructing his face. His hair was an almost straw colour. It was darker than Arthur's own bright blond hair.

"What is it?" the American asked with some concern. He had grown serious at some point during the time Arthur had been staring at him. Arthur hadn't even realized it. Why was he staring? A cough was an easy solution Arthur used to cover up his embarrassment. A smile soon cracked over the American's lips. It certainly did make him more attractive. That frown did not to wonders for the American's features. "It's because my tie is too tight, isn't it? I wondered about that."

The American immediately went about loosening his tie to an easy look. To accompany this he undid the first few bottons of his white, cotton shirt. Arthur immediately scoffed at his new appearence. Any respect that the Englishman had previously felt for the American was immediately discarded if he couldn't even deal with wearing his suit properly.

"What was that?" snapped Alfred. He stuck out his tongue childishly. "The tie is really uncomfortable. I hate wearing suits, but it kinda comes with the job, so I don't really have a choice. The President would get really mad at me if I didn't wear it. I've been trying to talk him into casual Fridays, but he hasn't really gone for that one yet..." Alfred trailed off when he noticed that Arthur was staring at him. "Like what you see?" the American smirked.

The minute the words left the other's lips, the blond Englishman tore he emerald eyes away from the dolt of an American. "Of course not. I'm hungry and tired is all. I haven't eaten a bloody thing all day." Arthur glared at the American accusingly as if it were entirely his fault that he hadn't been given the luxury of food the entire day. "Where's the closest resturant?"

"Well, I can't garentee they'll be serving lunch yet..."

"Alfred, really, I don't care," dead-panned Arthur.

"Mickey D's then!" Alfred exclaimed much too happily.

Upon hearing the chosen restuarant, Arthur continued to keep his feet planted to the White House's lucious lawn. Really, it was quite well cared for by the looks of it. Some of the money used to keep the lawn so well-kept could certainly be going toward helping with the American government's economy if it was really in as much trouble as the reports said.

"McDonald's? Really?"

Alfred stopped walking. The bounce left his step when he turned to the Englishman. "You don't like McDonald's?" A look of supreme horror covered the blond's face. He stuck his lips out in a bit of a pout, and Arthur could practically _see_ the tears in his eyes. Arthur simply quirked one of his eyebrows and stared the American down. He had not come to America to eat at bloody _McDonald's_. Well, not that it had been his choice to come to America at all.

"McDonald's is hardly a respectable restuarant. Walking into the very institute is asking for a heart-attack. Going for food there it tight situations is not such a bad thing, but we are hardly in a tight situation. It is almost eleven, and we have the entire rest of the day to waste."

"Nothing about Washington is a waste! You're such a grumpy, old man, you know?" Alfred muttered the last bit under his breath, of course. Then again, muttering under his breath for Alfred really wasn't much of a matter at all. In fact, it was quite easy for Arthur to hear him speak. This, of course, was not at all pleasing for the Englishman, and he scowled angrily. "Where do you suggest we eat then?"

Arthur crossed his arms moodily across his chest. "I don't very much care," was the annoying answer that Alfred received. Of course, the Englishman cared. If he didn't care, then they would be eating at McDonald's and this discussion wouldn't even be occurring. "I don't quite know my way around Washington now, do I? That's is your job, remember?"

Now the American was glaring just as fiercely at the Englishman as the older blond was glaring at him. "I'm trying to be nice," Alfred spat, "but you're making it really hard to be nice."

"I don't need nice, I need food." Yes, if that's the game Alfred wanted to play then Arthur could easily play it back. Seven years in politics made it quite easy to make snide remarks.

"Why don't you stop being such an-"

"Mr. Jones, really. You're not aggravating one of our _very_ important guests are you?" The voice that spoke was practically a purr. "Mr. Kirkland, is there anything I can do to help you?"

Arthur turned to the source of the voice and couldn't help but smile when he saw the glare and scowl on Alfred's face. If Alfred didn't like this person, then Arthur was sure the two of them would get along splendidly. "I'm looking for a respectable restuarant nearby, actually. If you would be so kind as to point me in the right direciton, that would be delightful."

The Englishman couldn't help but admire the man coming toward them. He was in full uniform and clearly of a high rank. Arthur wondered if this was the 'Ron' Alfred had been speaking of earlier. "Not only could I accompany you, I was be most honored to take you there myself."

"Shouldn't you be with the President?" grudingly Alfred asked.

Ron laughed easily. He smiled delicately over at the other American. "Mr. President is quite capable of taking care of himself. Mr. Kirkland on the other hand is in unchartered waters and could use a proper guide."

"I'm supposed to be his guide!"

The other American looked Alfred up and down as if seeing him for the first time. It was clear that he was not at all impressed by what he saw. "Well, Mr. Jones, it seems that you could do with a good instructor in etiquete. Now, Mr. Kirkland, I am Ronald Butcher, Captain of the President's Secret Service. You may, of course, simply call me Ron." The Captain smiled and offered his hand to the Englishman.

"It is quite a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Butcher," Arthur smiled honestly and shook the other's hand. It was quite pleasant to have someone polite to actually speak with; someone other than Alfred. It wasn't that Alfred wasn't pleasant company, the two of them simply had nothing in common.

"You must be exhausted after such a long trip, Mr. Kirkland," Ron said. The Captain stood in an almost regal fashion. His hands were clapsed neatly behind himself as he walked at an easy pace beside the Englishman. "Would you prefer if I drew us a car?"

Alfred had his arms crossed over his chest in a brooding fashion. His eyes and demenor were both pouting, as he sulked. The American was trailng along behind them like a child who had been refused a toy by his parents. Arthur would have felt somewhat bad for him if he wasn't being such a child about the whole matter. Rather, Arthur crossed his own arms and turned his entire attention back to Ron.

"Really, Mr. Butcher, I do appreciate the formality. It is certainly a relief to find that at least _some_ Americans are polite." Arthur hadn't meant to make the phrase a snide comment toward Alfred, but the moment the words left his mouth he realized they were. Ron simply chuckled. "But certainly you can call me Arthur."

"But of course, Mr. Kirkland, but only if I can be given the same courtesy." Ron pulled an identification pass from his pocket and flashed it to the guards at the gates. "It's a precaution," Ron explained.

"I'm sure that could be arranged, Ron."

Arthur smiled over at the Secret Service agent who Arthur was surprised to find was smiling back at him. The Englishman looked away quickly followed by a bothered huff from behind. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Alfred clench his fingers into fists.

"C'mon, Arthur," Alfred stormed ahead of of the couple in front of him. He grabbed Arthur at the wrist and started pulling Arthur along faster. "Shouldn't you be getting back to the President, _Mr. Butcher_?"

"Alfred!" the Englishman exclaimed when he found himself being drug down the street. Alfred had strength hidden on his person that Arthur would never have expected. "Alfred, unhand me this very minute!" Arthur demnaded indignantly. The initial shock of being pulled down the land had disapaited into annoyance.

Ron Butcher simply sighed as if the very sight was painful for him to watch. It was like the Captain had expected the actions of the other American, or he had dealt with a similiar situation before. Since the two of them seemed to know each other quite well, he probably had anticipated the actions. "Really, Mr. Jones, must you be so childish? Please, release Arthur. You're setting a poor example of Americans for the unfortunate man."

The words of Ron seemed to set Alfred in even more of a fit. The American tightened his hold on the Englishman who let out an indignified squeak at the new set of force sent down upon his arm. He tried vainly to pull from the American's grasp. Really, where was he keeping all that muscel? It certainly didn't show through the suit he wore.

"Alfred, let go!" Arthur called angrily. He set his feet into the ground in the hopes of slowing the other down. He wasn't even sure where they were going. The attempt only set him stumbling after Alfred however. Angry emerald daggers were sent in the direction of the bobbing blond head ahead of him. "Release me, Mr. Jones!"

At the sound of the of the formal name, Alfred stopped dead in his tracks. He turned in surprise to look at Arthur who had lurched forward a bit at the sudden stop. Alfred managed to catch him before he fell and righten him on his feet. In the process he let go of Arthur's wrist, and the Englishman rubbed at it unconscienely. "What?"

"You're a bloody git," Arthur growled. He couldn't help but send Alfred accusing looks. Captain Ron came to the Englishman's other side and offered a gentle hand to the other. Arthur let the Secret Service agent inspect the reddening wrist.

Ron's fingers were gentle while he rubbed soothing circles against the steadily bruising flesh. "I-I didn't do that, did I?" Alfred asked sheepishly. He reached out a hand to touch Arthur apologetically before seeming to think better of the action and withdrawing his arm. Instead he nervously bit his lower lip.

"No, Mr. Jones, he just managed to find his arm injured after you had been unceremoniously pulling on him." There was obvious bite in the Captain's words when he spoke to the American.

Despite the fact that Alfred had been quite rude and violent with his actions, he did appear sorry. The young lad even managed to keep back a retort toward the man it was clear he didn't like all that much. Arthur also had a feeling that Alfred didn't mean to harm him, in fact, Arthur was certain that the incident had been purely accidental.

"I'm sorry, Arthur," Alfred mumbled. The American now had his hands shoved down deep into his pockets. He kicked a pebble on the ground, scuffing his shoe in the dirt. His blond locks of hair obscured his blue eyes due to the fact that he was looking down at the ground determindedly.

A sigh escaped Arthur's lips. "It's quite all right, Alfred. I'm sure you forget your own strength sometimes. I'm not built quite as sturdy as you are. Just be careful next time, will you?" Arthur looked at the American to see him nod obediently. He looked like a little kicked puppy and despite everything Arthur felt pity settle into his chest.

Arthur pulled away from the Captain. The Englishman smiled gently at him, but it was Alfred who held his attention. A gentle tap on the chin made Alfred look over at the other aid. "I'm sorry," he mumbled again, "you're not really hurt are you?" Alfred looked up sharply with worried cerulean eyes.

Arthur reached up to pat the top of Alfred's head. Arthur was quite surprised to find the act to be a harder feat than he'd first anticipated. Alfred was much taller than he looked. To actually reach the top of the other's head he was required to use the tips of his toes. "I'll be fine, Alfred. Now, aren't you supposed to be taking me out for lunch?"

When Alfred noticed the almost playful smirk on Arthur's lips, he flashed a bright one of his own. "So you are taking me up on that date!" the American exclaimed. He smiled happily and turned on his heels to take a bouncing pace forward.

"I-I most certainly am not!" stuttered Arthur with a light flush.

Alfred simply turned around to wink.

/I know, this took a long time to come out, but I promise that it'll never take that long again. I should be able to post a couple times a week from now on. Review make me life so much better so if you could take the time to leave a review that would be wonderful! I also have to apologize for spelling errors. I know they're in there already but my spell-check suddently decided to stop working so it really can't be helped./


	3. Monuments

(**Dislclaimer: **I do not claim to own Hetalia: Axis Powers in any way.)

The obelisk before them sparkled somewhat in the light. In fact, it didn't actually sparkle all that much in the light, but according to the American's claims it was supposed to. Actually, even now while it was within their sights he was still claiming that it glittered in the afternoon light.

"Just look at it!" the American exclaimed loudly. "It's practically glittering!"

"There is no way that monument is glittering, Alfred!" Arthur argued back. He looked up at the Washington monument and huffed. He was not losing this argument. If it had been anyone but Alfred speaking he might have tried to see what they spoke about but with Alfred things were different. The need to argue with the American was just too strong.

"Is too!"

"Is not, Alfred!"

A few groups of people walking by them paused to listen for a moment before giggling and continuing along. A few people gave them strange, disapproving looks before continuing along their way. Only those strange glances caused Arthur to stop the bickering. He flushed a bit in embarrassment.

"Hey, Artie, you feeling okay? You don't look so good anymore. Your cheeks are all red and stuff." Alfred was looking at him curiously, just a bit of worry in his cerulean eyes. "Look! Hot dogs!" Alfred exclaimed with little delay. The previous concern went unattended so Alfred could go obtain a hot dog from the street vendor. Arthur followed behind him quietly. Why the odd looks from the passerby? Were he and Alfred really such an odd sight? Why was he blushing so deeply anyway?

Alfred was quick to bound back to Arthur equipped with three hot dogs. "I'm really not hungry, Alfred," Arthur told him. Now honestly, Alfred had taken Arthur to an adequate little diner - at least it hadn't been bloody _McDonald's_ - after Arthur had convinced Ron he was quite all right walking alone with Alfred. Ron hadn't been so convinced - in fact, he hadn't been at all convinced - but had left the two alone. The other had eaten like a man who had been starving for weeks.

"Mine!" Alfred hoarded the three hot dogs close to him at the very _suggestion_ that he should give even just one to Arthur. The American plopped down on a white, wooden bench and proceeded to take a large bite from the hot dog.

"How can you still be hungry?"

"Jus' 'm."

"Don't talk with your mouth full either," Arthur commanded. The Englishman huffed. "Why must you be such a child?"

Alfred didn't seem to take well to the comment. "I'm not a child!" the American's voice was angry. "You can stop with the high and mighty act of yours now."

Arthur scoffed in indignation. He was saved having to answer by the vibration and loud 'God Save the Queen' being played loudly from his pocket. The sound made Alfred giggle, though Arthur was sure that he would never call it a giggle himself. Arthur simply sent him a glare that did nothing to silence the American. That didn't bother Arthur at all when the Queen's name shown at Arthur on the digital screen.

"Ma'am!" Arthur exclaimed with too much pleasure and relief in his voice. "I've been terribly worried about you." A sudden pang hit the Englishman's chest. He hadn't given one thought to his Queen since they'd arrived at the diner hours ago.

"There's no need for you to worry about me, Arthur," the Queen answered. "Please tell me you're being open-minded with dear Alfred." There was a gentle tone of pleading in the Queen's voice. Arthur glanced at Alfred who was walking closer to the monument with his own phone pressed to his ear.

Arthur glanced away when he realized he was staring. The last thing he saw of Alfred was the other male swallowing quickly to talk excitedly - not to mention with excessive arm motions - to whom Arthur assumed was probably the President.

"I wouldn't say open-minded exactly."

"Arthur..."

"I'm being quite civil, ma'am," Arthur defended himself. The defensiveness was clear in his voice, and the Englishman winced at how transparent he was being. "How are you doing with the President?" he asked to distract her from himself. He added quickly, "You don't need me to come down there, do you?" Was that eagerness in his voice now? Just great.

"Don't even think about it, Arthur Kirkland!" the Queen exclaimed. Her voice was stern and honest, but Arthur could hear the laughter in her voice as well. "You stay with Alfred and have some fun. I brought you to America with me for a vacation if you fail to remember. Oh, yes, and, Arthur?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"I was getting the strangest feeling while the two of you were here that Alfred would like to very much ask you on a date while you're here. Maybe you could be so kind to as to humour him if he were to ask you." It was a simple request that made Arthur immediately flush at the very suggestion.

"Ma'am!" he exclaimed.

The Queen let out a pained sigh. The very sound caused a cringe from Arthur. "All you think about is working, Arthur. I don't believe you've ever taken a day off. You could do with a life outside of work, and a love life in particular would do you some good. Alfred himself could do you some good."

"We have nothing in common!" Arthur exclaimed. "Not to mention the fact that we're both _male_." The second part was practically whispered. Embarrassment flooded his voice. The Englishman glanced back up at the other who caught his gaze and smiled. Arthur flushed when he remembered how strong Alfred was.

"Opposites attract so they say," the Queen informed him, using the old cliche. "If you didn't pay attention yet, Arthur, and I'm sure you haven't noticed at all, Alfred is quite handsome. I'm sure the two of you would get along marvelously if you actually gave it a chance. Not just the relationship, but Alfred as well."

"But, ma'am..."

"Don't even think of butting me, Arthur Kirkland!"

"Sorry, ma'am..." Arthur began to apologize.

"Honestly, Arthur, do have fun, will you?" she intervened. "I didn't say you had to accept the request. I don't even know for sure that he'll ask to court you. With your current mood I'm not surprised he hasn't asked you yet. You're probably terrifying the poor fellow."

Arthur gulped audibly. "He already did."

"And I suppose you turned him down."

"Well, yes..."

"The poor boy. He's probably devastated."

A look over at Alfred showed that he was far from devastated. The American was talking loudly. His hands waved wildly in the air when he spoke. "Yes, devastated, ma'am." The Englishman tried to keep the sarcasm from his voice when he answered.

"So go talk to him. Have a wonderful night, Arthur." Before the Englishman could form an answer of protest the Queen had canceled the call from her phone to allow the dial tone to continue to drone in his ear like the annoying nuisance that it was.

"Brilliant, bloody brilliant."

"What is?"

Arthur visibly jumped when he found the American sitting back down beside him. How could he not have noticed the other man? He was quite an obvious fellow, after all. He was always being so loud as well; how was it that he'd managed to be quiet enough to sneak up on the Englishman? How long had he been sitting there beside him anyway? Not only that, but how much had he heard of the previously ended conversation?

"Trouble in paradise? What can the awesome hero do to help?" Disregarding the 'awesome hero' part the American actually sounded sincere in his want to help whatever was bothering the shorter blond. Arthur must have looked just as troubled as he felt.

The obelisk that was the Washington monument became suddenly excitingly interesting all over again. If it made the Queen pleased to know he'd at least tried to start the relationship, then he'd do what he could. "I was wondering if your offer to go courting was still available."

Arthur chanced a somewhat flushed glance over at the American. The Englishman supposed he could be handsome if seen in the right lighting. His skin was gently tanned and when he smiled Arthur could feel himself beginning to smile as well. It was addictive. The Englishman forced the smile down immediately.

"Can you try speaking American?"

"Wha-but!" Arthur asked, well, he stuttered more than anything. "Are you insulting the Queen's English?" He added quickly, "To the Queen's personal adviser?"

Alfred bit into his lower lips nervously. It seemed to be a habit when the other wasn't quite sure what else to say. "Uh, no?" he asked gently. He almost looked at Arthur with the need for approval in his eyes.

In a brooding fashion, Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. Alfred nudged Arthur's shoulder playfully. Apparently somewhere along the line he'd finished off his many hot dogs while Arthur had been paying attention elsewhere. "I was just wondering if you'd still like to take me out to dinner." He used the excuse of words to stifle his newly forming smile.

"That doesn't seem very professional now that we're working together. You seem all sticky when it comes to rules and stuff like that," Alfred said with a smirk. When Arthur became all flustered, Alfred couldn't help but laugh. "I'm just messing with you. I'd love to take you on a date. I thought you were determined to be straight though."

A sharp emerald glare was sent in Alfred's general direction. "Git. People can change their minds," Arthur mumbled halfheartedly to the American. He let the other pull his arms from their tight knot and gently cover one of his hands with his own tanned one. Arthur couldn't help but notice how much larger Alfred's were than his own. Even with the light touch Arthur could still feel the power wound up inside that he'd exerted earlier.

"You sure you're all right, Artie? Your face is all red again. It just got darker!" Alfred exclaimed in something akin to excitement. The American pressed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He was scrutinizing Arthur carefully through his clear lenses. "You're embarrassed, aren't you!" Understanding flooded his cerulean eyes.

"A-am not!"

"I'm a hero, so I'm going to show you the most awesome night you've ever had!" Alfred proceeded to squeeze Arthur's hand underneath his own happily until he noticed the other wince. A sharp stab of pain was sent up Arthur's arm at the action. Alfred immediately pulled his own hand away when he saw the display of discomfort. "I hurt you again, didn't I! I'm such an idiot."

One of Alfred's hands met the top of his forehead painfully. Even Arthur could see the flash of pain in Alfred's eyes at his own action. He certainly hadn't meant to hurt himself so much. "Stop being so foolish, Alfred," Arthur ordered immediately. He pulled Alfred's hand away from his head with his own injured arm. Arthur was careful to watch what he did with it to avoid further pain, but he wanted Alfred to see that he was going to be fine. "You're not an idiot either. It could have happened to anyone, really."

"I'm not good at any of this. I always figured I wasn't interested in girls because I could never manage to take them on a nice date. She always ended up being so put out by me." Alfred sighed sadly, and Arthur couldn't help but note that the look was no good for the energetic American. He was supposed to be happy and bring happiness to others. He wasn't supposed to be this depressed bloke sitting on a park bench.

"Maybe you weren't interested in girls for a completely different reason." Arthur took a deep breath to prepare himself. Even back before he'd personally met the Queen, back when he used to be a rowdy teenager, Arthur had never been at all comfortable with public displays of affection. However, he was going against those feelings now. Arthur gently covered Alfred's much larger hand with his own as the other had been doing just minutes earlier.

Arthur felt Alfred lean against him gently on the bench. Alfred reached out his free hand to run his fingers over the area he'd bruised earlier that day. "It doesn't hurt anymore, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," Arthur answered honestly. When he looked down at the injury, it didn't actually look too bad. It would heal within a few days at the most. The injury hadn't actually pained him for hours. "It'll heal soon enough, Alfred."

"About that date..." Alfred seemed sheepish about continuing.

"About that date," Arthur copied. He said the phrase in a much easier than the American's own nervous tone to encourage the other to continue. He wasn't too thrilled about the whole idea yet. In just a few hours Alfred had managed to make Arthur see him in a new, better light, and he actually had been having a fine time with the American. Arthur still knew they were complete opposites and wasn't sure if a date was really the right thing for the two of them. Still, if it pleased the Queen...

"We could go get ready at my place and then go tonight?"

"Tonight?"

"Well...only if you want too."

Arthur hesitated. "I suppose..."

"Great! C'mon!" Alfred proceeded to hop to his feet with a whole new enthusiasm to his step. He pulled Arthur up after him and continued to prance across the cement to the street.

"A-Alfred!"

/Ah! the next part is up! It's really just a filler chapter for the most part...interesting stuff will start happening soon! I mean, things just can't go this easily for them. *Grins Evilly*

Comments=Love /


	4. Homely Matters

(**Disclaimer: **I do not claim to own Hetalia: Axis Powers in any way.)

"I'll be staying here then, I suppose?" Arthur asked through the door. The fact that all his things had been laid in Alfred's small living room when they'd arrived at been a fairly good give-away for that. He was using the question - though it wasn't much of a question - to fill in the slight silence.

Alfred's flat was really quite small - not to mention that he kept calling it an apartment which to Arthur was just bloody annoying. There was a small kitchenette attached to the living room with no walls in between. The master bedroom - which was the only bedroom - was through the only door. It wasn't all that large in itself. Alfred's bed took up most of the space, there was a dresser in the corner and a small vanity was connected to the top of said dresser. The only lavatory was connected to the bedroom, but Arthur hadn't been inside there yet. He was sure it wasn't any larger than the rest of the house.

What instantly caught Arthur's eye upon entering the flat was the complete lack of cleanliness. Alfred had dishes stacked up on his counter top, there was clothes strewn about every room - Arthur was sure most of them were probably dirty - and the entire place needed a good dusting. Arthur wondered if the flat had ever seen dust-repellent.

The second thing Arthur noticed was disguised until Alfred showed him into the master bedroom where he had changed his clothing for the evening. The walls were papered in posters. Most of them were of some sort of superhero or another, but Arthur couldn't help but spot posters that he himself had. Adorning the American's walls were posters of _The Who_ and _The Beatles_. However, those were few. Even the American's sheets had superheroes on them.

The third feature that Arthur recognized about the flat was the complete lack of books. There were a few magazines strewn in the living room along the floor and coffee table. In the bedroom there was a small stack of comic books, but no where to be seen was a real, tangible novel. Arthur was affronted at the very idea.

Finally, Arthur found the flat to be completely _Alfred_.

"Yeah!" Alfred called from inside the lavatory. The American had decided that he would prepare himself there while the Englishman was free to use the master bedroom for himself. "You'll take the bed, and I'll sleep on the couch. This will be great! It'll be like a sleep-over!"

Arthur wasn't exactly sure how he felt about the idea of spending the nights he was in America in the blond's home. The Queen had stated that his accommodations weren't exactly ideal, and he now understood why. It led him to wonder, however, what had stopped her from booking him a lodge in a hotel someplace. Where exactly would she be staying? Surely not with the President!

"I couldn't impose like that," Arthur stated back. He wasn't going to not only invade upon Alfred's personal space by staying in his home on such short notice but by staying in his bed as well. He would sleep on the couch; he was sure he would feel much more comfortable on Alfred's couch. "When did you hear that I was going to be staying in your flat?"

"You mean my apartment?" Arthur completely ignored that question in favor of not getting angry with the American for his, well, Americanisms. He really did want to get along with Alfred, quite a lot actually. "When you were on the phone earlier, the President called. He asked me if it would be okay then. I really didn't mind!" Alfred stuck his head out from behind the lavatory door. It hadn't been properly closed the entire time. "You don't mind either do you?"

"Of course not," Arthur answered. It wasn't completely honest, but it was just a small lie. Arthur could easily resolve the issues he was feeling - he hoped. It was more of a nervousness that stopped him from wanting to stay in the American's home. Of course, it wasn't the most ideal conditions with how clean the place was, but it wasn't terrible conditions either.

That seemed to take a great weight off of Alfred's shoulders. Only a small portion of the American was showing through the door - the Englishman was trying to keep his eyes off the American as well; he had a strong feeling that the other blond was currently shirtless - but Arthur saw him heave downward as if the weight had physically been lifted and not just mentally. "Awesome." The American's body withdrew into the lavatory, and Arthur felt his own shoulders slump forward with a released weight.

Now that there was a quiet in the flat, Arthur couldn't help but begin to pick away at the flaws in his appearance. The Englishman raked a hand through his shaggy hair. It was definitely the most notable part of his appearance. The Englishman couldn't help but scowl at himself unhappily. He ran his fingers over his eyebrows. He took back his previous thought. They were the most notable part of his appearance, not his hair.

Arthur thought of those he knew back in England. His hair and eyebrows had always been what he'd been teased about. Arthur had been a completely different person back then though. The minute someone decided to speak even relatively hostile toward him, he was quick to make due with them.

Now as Arthur looked in the mirror before him, however, he noted his flaws with the same hostility. "Ready to go, Arthur?" Alfred asked. He was very close, and when Arthur jumped and paid attention, he saw the American smiling at him from the reflection in the mirror.

A bit nervously Arthur turned around to the American. "You look good," he told the other honestly. It occurred to Arthur as he saw the other now, just how awkward the other looked in his suit. It had suited him much better when he'd loosened his tie and undone a few buttons. Out of the suit, he looked splendid. "Very good," he noted when his eyes slipped delicately over Alfred's muscled arms. The masculinity of the other was now obvious. It was no surprise that he was strong.

"Why, thank you, Arthur," Alfred answered cordially. He smiled happily and held out his arm for Arthur to take. The other blushed and smiled back but refused to take the other's arm. He simply batted Alfred's shoulder. The other blond appeared devastated for a moment, rejection written plainly in his eyes. Mirth was written clearly underneath however, and he was soon laughing playfully. "You look very handsome too, Arthur."

"Can't you fix your hair though? Really, Alfred, don't you own a comb?" Arthur used the bite in his words to distract the other from the embarrassment that was clearly written there. Arthur immediately went after Alfred's hair and the cowlick that disobediently defied gravity.

"Hey!" Alfred called indignantly. He swatted Arthur's arms away from his hair. "You have no room to talk! Do you even know what a comb is?" Suddenly, Arthur had no qualms about taking the master bedroom for the night. A pout formed on Alfred's lips, but Arthur was going to have none of that. How could have been so foolish as to think that he could last without getting angry with the American?

The Englishman pushed roughly at Alfred's chest. "Get out!" he demanded. He pushed the other in the direction of the door. "Forget the bloody date! I'm just going to sleep!" The blond ignored the fact that it was early in the night yet. The sun hadn't set all that long ago. It was hardly close to nine o'clock.

"It's my room!" was the American's first protest.

"You're the one who offered to let me sleep in it!" Arthur growled back. He had somehow managed to push Alfred from the room completely. He had a feeling the other was too shocked by the abrupt change in plans or wasn't attempting to keep himself in place. There was no conceivable explanation for Alfred's stronger demeanor not to remain motionless against Arthur's weaker one.

Arthur managed to successfully slam the door shut behind the American. To celebrate this momentous accomplishment, he let himself collapse down on the bed. It was only then that he realized all of his belongings currently in America were actually not in the room he was currently occupying but the one he'd just locked the American into. Well, he'd deal with that at a later time.

"Artie!" Alfred called through the door apologetically. He knocked on the door vigorously. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or anything! You weren't being very nice either though!" There was a bit of an accusing tone in his voice as he said the last part.

Arthur simply scowled angrily at the door as if it were Alfred himself. "What are you, git? Five? Honestly, _someone's_ going to think you're a bloody child the way you act!" The Englishman heard Alfred make an annoyed sound from the other side of the door.

"Artie-"

"It's Arthur! _Arthur_!"

"Fine then, _Arthur_," Alfred practically growled. "I was just trying to be nice. Just because you want to be a grumpy jerk all the time doesn't mean you have to treat everyone like crap. I'll be surprised if you have any friends at all!"

Arthur fumed furiously. He stormed from his previous seat on the bed to the door separating him from Alfred. "I'll have you know that I have loads of friends!" he shouted back. "I'm sure I have many more than a child like you has!"

It was a blatant lie that Alfred need never know the truth of. In actuality, Arthur had no friends. There was Francis Bonnefoy who made it his life's goal to annoy Arthur whenever he happened to be in Britain, but Arthur wouldn't exactly call him much of a friend. He was more of a stalker really. There was always the Queen as well, but Arthur wasn't sure exactly how he would label their friendship. A lot of the time it was more of an acquired partnership through work.

While Arthur shouted through the door at the American, he heard another door slam. It stopped him before he could gather more protests against the other blond. He paused before calling out quietly, "Alfred?" There was no answer from the other side of the door. If Arthur remembered correctly - and he was quite sure he was remembering correctly - the only other door was the one leading out of the house.

A split-second passed in which Arthur felt a bit guilty about his actions, and he felt just a tad lonely now that Alfred had so obviously stormed out of his flat. That part of him was quickly quelled however. No, it was definitely a good thing that Alfred had left. Arthur didn't want him around anyway. Not to mention, it gave him a golden opportunity to open the door and snatch his luggage into the bedroom.

Looking around, Alfred was no where to be found. He had left.

* * *

><p>It was burnt, all of it. There was very little that was salvageable. The blackened mass almost seemed to move on its own accord as it found its way into the trash bin nearby. An agitated sigh emitted through the room, albeit it was softly done. There was a cracking sound as the process was repeated.<p>

Arthur was determined to get it right this time. All he was doing was trying to make scrambled eggs, but the bloody things didn't want to prepare themselves correctly. Arthur was dead determined it was the eggs doing it. There must have been something wrong with American chickens. That was the only reason it wasn't working as it was supposed to.

This was the Englishman's third attempt at the simple thing. He had already prepared scones which he was sure wouldn't taste quite correct given that Alfred hadn't properly supplied his kitchen with all the things that Arthur normally would have used to make such a recipe.

The fact that Arthur had packed his favorite tea cup and a small box of his favorite teas seemed to have come as a blessing. He was almost certain that it would come in handy to pack them at some point in their travels. Alfred's entire flat was devoid of the drink, so Arthur was more than happy to have used the room in his suitcases to pack it.

When the fire alarm went off, Arthur didn't do so much as flinch. Instead he glowered angrily at the alarm as if it had personally offended him. His emerald eyes just dared it to keep blaring. It dared. The sound seemed to jolt Alfred from his sleep however, as it should.

"Wha? My apartment's on fire!" Alfred leapt to his feet in a flurry. He was wearing the same clothes as last night was the first thing that Arthur noted about him when he was up. The clothes he had decided to dress in last night was crinkled with sleep. "Artie! Get up! The apartment's on fire!"

The American ran to the door to the master bedroom only to find it open. He hesitated before deeming that the matter was more important than their spat last night, and he stormed into the room. He found it empty - which was no surprise to Arthur who had been watching him the whole time. The Englishman resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands in exasperation.

"I'm right here, Alfred."

When the words left his mouth, Alfred was out of the bedroom in a flash. He noticed the pan in Arthur's hands, the somewhat charred mess the last batch of eggs had left behind and seemed to find the situation thoroughly amusing. He began to laugh almost immediately.

"You're the one burning down my apartment!"

"I'm doing no such thing!" Arthur could already feel his face heating up. This morning was already starting to turn out like last night. His face was turning red with anger. He'd been doing this to apologize for last night too! He had just wanted to make the American a nice breakfast to make up for his foul mood the night before.

The Englishman hadn't been able to help himself. He'd tried for hours to fall asleep, but he hadn't managed to. Guilt had ran a muck in his mind until Alfred had returned back. It had been extremely late - or early - when the American had finally come back to the flat. Arthur had heard the door close, and the American had come into the bedroom - where Arthur had been determinedly pretending to be asleep - retrieved a spare blanket from the closet, and gone to sleep on the couch. Only then had Arthur been able to sleep, and even then, he hadn't slept comfortably.

Through his chuckles Alfred stepped into the other room to call his landlord. Arthur simply glared after him before turning to the eggs he had been previously preparing. The alarm clicked off soon enough, and the flat was left in silence.

"Let me help you," Alfred chuckled in his ear. Arthur jumped and nearly lost his grip on the pan when he found the American so close to him. Alfred pressed his chest against Arthur's back when he stepped in close. He laid his hands over Arthur's own. "Relax," he whispered quietly. The humour had left his voice now.

"A-Alfred..."

"Shh." Alfred leaned forward gently, and his cheek brushed gently against Arthur's own. The red in his cheeks now was due to something completely different than anger. Despite his embarrassment - for certainly that's all it was - the contact felt utterly familiar. It was comforting. It was normal.

"Alfred..." he tried again only to be shushed a second time. "I was making breakfast," he continued anyway. He nearly winced when he heard the whine in his own voice. Arthur Kirkland most certainly didn't whine. Whining was for a child like Alfred, not the distinguished Arthur Kirkland.

Another chuckle was produced near his ear. This time Arthur felt the slight vibration through Alfred's chest against his back. "And now I'm helping. Take it as an apology about what happened last night. I'm sorry."

"That's why I was making breakfast in the first place." Arthur's blush darkened, and he stared determinedly at the frying pan on the oven. Alfred reached out to turn the temperature down a bit. "Last night was a terrible display on my part. I apologize. I have sorely taken advantage of your hospitality. I won't let it happen again. I'll vacate your room soon enough."

"I don't care that you have the bedroom. The couch isn't that bad."

"No, no, I insist. I've invaded upon your hospitality for far too long."

"We'll talk about this over breakfast, okay?" Alfred asked quietly. The American was keeping his voice surprisingly soft this morning. Well, since the rather loud incident with the fire alarm. Arthur simply nodded. This quiet Alfred was really quite compelling. Normally Arthur would have pursued the issue until he received his way. "Go watch the t.v. or something. I'll handle everything in the kitchen."

"Alfred..."

"Don't worry about it." Alfred smiled gently at him and released one of his hands. The other one removed itself rather reluctantly, Arthur noted, but did the same. Arthur left the room rather reluctantly himself to turn on the television in the other room. It was a small set, but Arthur really didn't mind. It was easy enough for him to find the local news station, and that was all that really mattered to him.

That feeling was short lived.

"Alfred?" It was a questioning when the report started. Apparently they had been talking about the issue for quite some time now, but it was a hot topic that wasn't likely to disappear any time soon. It certainly was a top story. Arthur wasn't having any of it. Even Arthur heard the quiver in his voice, and he was sure that was the only reason that Alfred left the kitchenette to come to his side.

"Artie?" Apparently he was back to using the bloody nickname, but for the first time that wasn't Arthur's top priority. "Something wrong?" Alfred was focused on Arthur for a bit before switching his attention to the television which was surprisingly displaying a picture of the two of them.

"We-we're on wanted posters."

"I see that."

"Why?"

"Uh..." the American had no good response to the fearful question. "Let me phone the President."

"I'll talk to the Queen."

Arthur was surprised he hadn't thought of that solution earlier. Upon seeing the news report it should have been his first instinct to give her a call and make sure she was all right. What was wrong with him? Was it the American air? That had to be it, it was the only explanation for the odd behavior he'd been displaying since arriving.

A knock at the door caught both their attention. The two of them glanced at the door before turning to look at each other. Alfred already had his phone pressed against his ear; a worried expression was clear on his face. "Alfred Jones, Arthur Kirkland, this is Washington police."

Arthur wasn't able to hear any more of the exact nature of their crimes because Alfred was pulling him through the fire escape in the back of the flat. Alfred yanked Arthur's cellular phone viciously from his grasp to dispose of it in the flat before they left. Arthur tried to protest, but Alfred shushed him quietly and covered his mouth with his hand.

They'd been running ever since.


	5. Black Tea

(**Disclaimer: **I do not claim to own Hetalia: Axis Powers in any way.)

_Six Months Later_

"Up you come, Alfred." Arthur prodded gently at Alfred's side. The American simply groaned and pulled the covers over his exposed head. Arthur couldn't help but smile gently. Despite everything the American's attitude could be quite endearing at times. "It's nearly ten, I've made breakfast."

The covers shifted at the mention of food. Any mention of food always caught the American's attention. It didn't seem to be enough today, however, as Alfred didn't feel the need to expose his head yet. Arthur gently brushed his hand against the moth-eaten bed sheets of their flimsy mattress.

Arthur still wasn't used to it.

When he'd been discovered by the Queen, Arthur's lifestyle had changed dramatically. He'd cleaned up his personality and stripped all of the ties from his life. He'd removed all the clothes from his closet and completely replaced them with something more fitting for his new position. Extravagance had been positively lavished on him. Just a month later, and he'd been moved into a new home with new furnishings.

Now he was reverting back. Not only had he been reverted back, he was actually being downgraded. All of their belongings were things they'd picked up along the way. Their home - though Arthur refused to call it such most of the time - was an abandoned plane hanger. Temperatures dropped to below freezing at night, and the roof leaked somewhat during storms. Arthur was waiting for the entire building to come collapsing in on them.

"Alfred, it's time to get up," Arthur repeated. Arthur didn't dare mention how childish Alfred was being, despite the fact that he was acting like a complete child. Alfred didn't have the time to act like a child most of the time. At times he could be quite romantic. Most of the time he had to be a 'super-awesome-hero' as he preferred to call it.

Ever since the two of them had been considered wanted criminals for crimes against both Britain and America, Alfred had taken it upon himself to save the both of them from their predicament. He'd accepted full responsibility for their falsified crimes despite Arthur's protests that that was absolutely ridiculous.

"No," Alfred whined back his protest. "You should come back to bed." He seemed to deem that as a much better solution than getting up himself as he proceeded to grab Arthur's arm and pull him back down onto the bed. Arthur let out a gentle yelp in surprise. Alfred was quick with his motions as well as strong.

"Alfred." There was no bite left in his words from months ago. The irritated emotions had slowly left to give way to amusement and maybe a bit of affection. He'd become quite besotted with the American in their time together. When he finally saw the side of Alfred that was an actual adult, he couldn't help but find himself becoming attracted to the other.

The American nuzzled against him, and Arthur simply smiled. He patted the other's head fondly and felt the blond smile against his neck. "You smell nice," the American informed him. Arthur simply rolled his eyes. Unlike the other he'd showered and dressed already. Not to mention the fact that he'd cooked breakfast. Cooking was something they did very rarely, and he was a bit disappointed Alfred wasn't more excited for the prospect of eating a warm meal.

Alfred - and Arthur as well - was worried that if they used to much of the old hanger's facilities they might get noticed. Showers were the exception as both of them refused to discontinue the sanitation ritual though Alfred had suggested numerous times that they shower together to conserve water. Arthur turned down every offer.

"You would too if you got up to take a shower," Arthur informed the American. He pulled away despite his desire to do as the other suggested and simply go back to sleep. It sounded like a much better alternative than whatever they were going to do today, which reminded him...

"Alfred, you have to get up. We're meeting with Francis today, remember?" How could Arthur have forgotten that already? It was the entire reason he'd made the meal in the first place. Francis Bonnefoy was always hard to deal with - for him at least - he'd need something to keep his mood static for the day, and a warm meal was sure to do that.

The American finally stuck his head out from the blanket. "No good morning kiss?" he asked sadly. His lower lip stuck out in a pout that was only amusing. Arthur forced back a smile. The more he indulged the American the less he would get in return. One simple kiss wouldn't hurt though, right? Of course not.

Arthur leaned down all too happily to give the other blond a gentle kiss. Alfred didn't seem at all satisfied by the contact, but he seemed to understand it was all he was going to get this morning. There was a strong possibility he'd get luckier tomorrow. Arthur was sure that was the only thing that motivated Alfred to get up anymore. It wasn't the prospect that if he didn't, he would die, it was the fear of waking up to find Arthur dead. This...thing, between the two of them was the only thing that kept him motivated.

"So what's this Francis guy really like?" Alfred threw off the blanket covering him. The action revealed the superhero boxers underneath. It was the only article of clothing that the other was wearing. Arthur couldn't understand him. The weather was cold inside the hanger. Arthur had been shivering after leaving his warm shower.

Arthur simply scowled at the question as he followed the American into the small kitchenette they'd fashioned in the hanger. He sat down at their tiny wooden table to poke mindlessly at the toast. He finally decided that it was probably edible and picked up a piece. Alfred had heard Arthur talk about Francis plenty of times since they'd been in the entire mess. It had been more ranting than talking though really.

Still, it was clear that Francis was the man they needed to get in contact with if they wanted to know what was really going on. Francis was always where the action was. Arthur had met him at a party back before he'd met the Queen. The reporter had been in London for some petty crimes happening throughout the city. It hadn't exactly been a good news story, but Francis hadn't been the greatest reporter then either. He hadn't received his big story until he did an interview with the Queen's new assistant, Arthur Kirkland. Despite his sharp words about the reporter they always indulged each other.

Now Francis had been given leave to travel across the world in search of the best news stories. If there was something big going on in America - say the aids to both the President and Queen being on the run - Francis was sure to be there. When Arthur had finally managed to get a message to him, the other had been more than happy to set up a meeting. Francis had actually seemed _worried._

"He's hard to get along with sometimes," Arthur admitted. He knew this was not the time to be laying out a rant about the man that was going to help them figure all this out. At the moment, Francis was their only chance. Any calls they tried to make to either the Queen or the President had ended in downfall. Charles didn't have a cellular device on which to reach him, and Alfred was determined not to try to contact Captain Ron despite Arthur's own protests. It was the one thing Alfred refused adamantly to do, so Arthur had finally stopped trying to push.

"I figured that one out already." There was a little smile on Alfred's lips as he began to chew on the toast that was beginning to crumble to ashes in his fingers. His tone was serious, however. Arthur was always surprised when the American brought that voice out. It was odd to hear him speak with so much commanding. It was no surprise that he worked for the President really.

"I just meant that you'll have to give him time. He might be a little flirty and head-strong at first, but you'll get used to it." That was true enough. After six month of seclusion, Arthur was finding himself missing even Francis' normality. "He likes to keep people guessing which could pose a bit of a problem, but I'm sure you can handle that."

"Did the two of you ever date?"

"Wh-what kind of question is that?" Arthur demanded with a nervous blush creeping up his cheeks. His eyes stretched a bit wide in something akin to horror at the very thought of dating the Frenchman of all people. Alfred just had to suspect that the two of them had dated, didn't he?

Alfred simply shrugged. He wasn't meeting the Englishman's eyes, and Arthur wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Alfred set down his only partially eaten piece of toast - that was scary enough in itself. Alfred never ate only part of his food. "It's just the way you talk about him sometimes. I just wondered if the two of you had ever dated or anything. Just wanted to know if I should be warned."

Arthur had to let out a long breath before he could speak. He really hadn't noticed he'd been holding it in. Before that moment, he'd just thought the idea was a book thing to add suspense. He'd never thought he'd find himself doing it when nervous. "I was straight before I met you, remember? We met in that kitchenette."

A fond smile appeared on Alfred's lips at the memory. "I was really awkward that day. I was trying to flirt with you but be nice at the same time. I'd never flirted with a guy in a normal environment before I met you. The rest of the guys were all just bar dates." Alfred chuckled a bit nervously as he thought back embarrassed by his actions of merely six months ago. He rubbed the back of his neck in a gesture that Arthur had become quite accustomed to.

"You were anything but nice!" Arthur exclaimed. "You called me an old man!"

"Well, you are!"

"I most certainly am not! I am only three years older than you, Alfred F. Jones!" Arthur was fuming now. There was little anger actually put behind it. "I will have you know that that most certainly was not a normal environment either! What were you thinking trying to get a date in a working environment?"

"I was just thinking about how sexy your accent was. I wanted to hear it say my name." Arthur flushed immediately. Alfred propped his head up in his hand, elbow rested on the wooden table, as he stared dreamily at Arthur with his blue eyes.

A cough pulled itself from the Englishman. "Well, that should not have been what was on your mind that day. You should have been focused on work and maybe you wouldn't have been late for our meeting. We were supposed to meet before in the conference room."

"But our meeting was way more interesting. What kind of love story starts off like it's supposed to anyway? I'm going to go take a shower." Alfred devoured the last few bites of his toast with one massive one. Arthur couldn't help but frown. Of all the things the American had given up, his appetite was surely the most shocking. Alfred now ate a tenth of what he used to in a day. It worried Arthur, but he never seemed to grow any weaker thankfully. "The offer still stands for that shower."

"I've already showered. Maybe if you would have been up earlier, I could have accepted the offer." They both knew it was a lie. Arthur never planned on accepting the offer. Arthur knew he had to figure out what their relationship really was before delving into _that_ territory. He didn't just want it to be physical contact between two lonely men, meaningless. Alfred seemed to accept that most of the time. Not to mention that this wasn't really the best situation to be trying to figure out a love-life. They needed to concentration on finding evidence of their innocents when they weren't really even sure what their crimes were.

It didn't stop the American from making comments that always brought a blush to the other blond's cheeks, however. "Trust me, you'd need another shower after I was done with you." Alfred purred it into the Englishman's ear.

The taller blond was quick and ducked away, laughing playfully, when Arthur tried to swat him over the head. Alfred placed a quick kiss to Arthur's shaggy mess of blond hair before scurrying out of the kitchenette for the shower.

When the other left, he let out a long sigh he hadn't really realized he was holding. There he went again with the cliche breathing techniques. When had he become so predictable?

Arthur sighed and rested his head in his hands. He was so confused. After all this time, and he still became a muddled mess when it came to Alfred. The Englishman wished the Queen was there. She was always so brilliant at knowing what would be good for him.

* * *

><p>"What's wrong with you, grumpy?"<p>

"I though you were taking a shower."

Alfred slipped behind him on the chair. The American wrapped his hands around the other blond. "Already did," he answered quietly. The younger of the two pressed gentle kisses along the other's neck. He had. Alfred's wet hair tickled his exposed flesh. "Arthur..."

The Englishman definitely knew that tone. Alfred didn't use it very often. He only used Arthur's full name when he was trying to make a point. That or he was feeling particularly lusting. It was actually something that occurred quite often.

"Alfred, we really don't have time for that right now. We need to leave to meet Francis soon."

"He can wait."

"But our lives can't."

A long breath tickled Arthur's neck, as Alfred breathed out against him. "I guess," he answered. Alfred twisted around to give Arthur a gentle kiss to the lips. When he pulled away, the smaller of the two saw hurt in his cerlean eyes. Guilt immediately overcame him.

"Alfred, I-"

"Didn't mean it like that?" Alfred questioned before nodding knowingly, frown on his lips. "Yeah, I know, that's what you always say."

Arthur twisted around this time to cup Alfred's cheek in his hand. "You do understand that it's true though, right, love?" It seemed when the conversation of their relationship was brought into question Alfred never seemed to quite believe what Arthur said. "After we prove figure all this out I still want you in my life."

"'Course I do." Alfred laid another gentle kiss to Arthur's lips that was over much too soon for the Englishman's liking. He frowned after the American who had risen to his feet and was retreating from the kitchenette. "We should go meet this Francis guy."

Arthur called out to him miserably. "I'm sorry, Alfred." He couldn't move from his seat. He also knew if they didn't leave now they risked detection or worse, showing up late for a rendezvous with Francis. The Frenchman would never allow him to live that down. That didn't seem so important at the moment though. No, him and Alfred were important because despite their messed up lives at the moment, sometimes their feelings and their relationship did matter more.

When Arthur didn't come to his call, Alfred went to find the distressed Englishman in the kitchenette. "Coming, Artie?" When he noticed Arthur's miserable state, he smiled kindly and came closer. "I do understand, okay?' He ruffled Arthur's already messy blond hair.

This time when Alfred kissed him, he lingered long enough to give Arthur ample time to wrap his arms around the other's neck. "I'm sorry I can't be what you want." Arthur proceeded to hide his embarrassment by burying his head into the other's neck.

This earned a chuckle from Alfred. He was rewarded with an angry glare that he couldn't see anyway due to Arthur's head being buried against his neck. Instead of just the glare, Arthur nipped sharply at the American's neck.

"Ow! Hey! That was mean!" Arthur felt Alfred bury his nose into his blond hair. "I was just going to tell you, you're exactly what I want. If we hadn't been thrown into this, I don't know if we'd ever get along."

"But we have been thrown into this mess, so we might as well try."

"Exactly."

Pulling his head from its hiding place, Arthur pressed his lips against Alfred's again. "Francis is going to be so jealous," Arthur smirked against the taller blond's lips. "Wait until he gets the sight of you. It will be brilliant."

* * *

><p>The laugh was absolutely tangible in the air. A couple people around the cafe glanced over at the three men at the table before going back to their own conversations. Arthur would know that laugh anywhere. He resisted the urge to scowl out of habit.<p>

"Told you I had the right place," Arthur grumbled under his breath to Alfred.

"Ah, Arthur, ma cher, you did not tell me you would be bringing an incredibly handsome date along. If I would have known then I would have brought along one of my own. I suppose a simple call would bring plenty of my old dates in Washington flocking." Francis trailed his hand along Alfred's shoulder in his personal way of gauging a new person. "He is not quite your type though, ma cher. I on the other hand..."

"Will not be laying a hand on him!" Alfred growled.

"Ah, he's feisty, I like that." Francis took a seat across from them at the table and smirked knowingly at Alfred who was glowering angrily at him. Arthur laid his hand calmly on the other's under the table. The moment he moved, Francis switched his gaze, and his knowing smirk was quite bothersome to the Englishman. It was like he _knew_. He probably did. Francis could smell a relationship a mile away.

Arthur continued along quietly, calmly. For the fact that he quite disliked Francis most of the time, he had learned to know the Frenchman and the easiest ways to deal with him. "What Alfred meant to say was that I am completely uninterested, and that this really isn't the time for flirting."

Francis' expression didn't change. "Yes, quite right, cher. Who am I to stand in the way of l'amour, after all? I would never do such a thing. It would be terribly improper of me."

The Frenchman ran a hand through his articulate blond hair. It was as long as ever and just as wavy. His clothes hadn't lost their bright luster to Arthur's dismay. The display always attracted attention, and that was something the other two didn't need at the moment.

A finger reached out to run along the rim of Alfred's glass. The American seemed to take it as an offensive motion and quickly pulled the glass to him. Arthur just rolled his eyes but not without amusement. "Coffee, non?" the Frenchman asked. "I think I'll have tea though today. You are having tea, non, cher?" Francis turned questioningly to the Englishman. The Frenchman raised his brow delicately.

"Of course," Arthur answered evenly. He felt his pulse pick up, and his grip on Alfred's hand tightened immediately. "What kind will you be drinking today? Black?" Arthur felt Alfred shift to look at him with a bit of alarm. His hold had tightened dramatically now as he awaited Francis' answer like his life depended on it. Which it did at the moment.

"Isn't it always black?"

"Well, yes, but I felt the need to ask. Alfred and I should really be going." Arthur stood up immediately and pulled Alfred up after him. A sharp emerald glare caused Alfred's mouth to snap closed. "It was good to see you again, Francis."

"It's always a pleasure, cher. I wish the two of you didn't have to leave so soon. We should have scheduled for a day other than the busy one today." A question was on Alfred lips; Arthur could just tell. He squeezed the other's hand reassuringly to keep him quietly as he finished his farewell to Francis and pulled the other into the restroom of the small cafe.

"Arthur? What the hell was that! He was supposed to help us!"

The Englishman set his hand over Alfred's mouth to keep him quiet. He hoped to all that was good that Alfred didn't pull one of his childish acts and try to lick his hand. Alfred seemed to sense something was wrong though and kept quiet. "We're in trouble. Francis had people tailing him either because they're using him in the investigation or he caught them following him. Either way we need to get out of here quick."

"The window," Alfred said instantly. The moment Arthur mentioned danger he was ready for action. With the way he acted Arthur sometimes wondered if Alfred wanted to throw himself into the line of fire whether for the thrill or to prove himself. Proving himself was something Arthur personally knew he didn't need to do. "How bad is it out there?"

"Very bad," Arthur answered immediately. "The window was my thought as well, but do you think you can fit through there?" Now that the window of escape had presented itself, Arthur saw the many flaws in the escape plan.

Alfred raised a brow. "Would you rather go through the vents?" Eyes went to look up at the ventilation system. "'Cause I'd like to do what's comfortable for you."

"Enough with the sarcasm. I doesn't sit as well on you as it does on me." There was no way either of them were fitting through to the ventilation system. Arthur made his way to the window that Alfred had broken the latch of with a sharp jab using the palm of his hand.

"Doesn't sit well on you either, babe," Alfred smirked. He leaned down to boost Arthur up to the window with his hands. Arthur scowled somewhat, ignoring the other's words as he stepped on Alfred's supported hands and pulled himself out of the window.

"You're only allowed to call me 'babe' after we find the Queen, not before."

"That a threat. It sounds like a threat."

"More like an incentive."

"Heroes don't need an incentive!" Alfred exclaimed in a hurt tone. His own hands appeared on the ledge of the window as he pulled himself out. "Little help, Artie?" Arthur could hear Alfred's feet trying in vain to find a hold on the wall of the cafe's restroom.

Arthur just rolled his eyes and pretended to be nonchalant about the entire issue. Inside his pulse had quickened in worry at the thought of Alfred stuck in the cafe and captured as an American traitor. The fall for that would not be an easy one.

The moment he was within reach Alfred grabbed desperately at Arthur's arm. The Englishman let out a gasp of pain at the motion. Alfred was much too strong for his own good. Half a year later and he was still forgetting the difference in build between the two of them.

Nevertheless, the smaller male ignored the pain to help haul Alfred from the window. Keeping them both alive was more important than a few bruises. "Artie, I hurt you!" Alfred gushed when Arthur pulled away, and he was safely on solid ground.

"I'll be fine, Alfred."

"What if I did serious damage though! What if your arms don't work now!" Not even Arthur could stop himself from laughing somewhat at the American's outlandish thoughts. The worry in Alfred's wonderfully brilliant cerulean eyes stopped him.

"I'll be fine, Alfred. I'm not made of porcelain or anything. They'll go away." He motioned to his wrist absently. "It's not the first time you've given me bruises, remember? This one healed up just fine." That was true. The bruise had faded rather quickly actually, but the tenderness of the afflicted area had persisted for weeks before going away.

However, Arthur's words seemed to do nothing for the American's sadness. In all actuality what Arthur had said seemed to make the American worse. He simply got to his feet and kissed Arthur gently. "I love you," he said immediately. The words fell from his lips easily, and a disappointed look appeared on his face when he saw Arthur pale.

Which he had.

The moment the words had left Alfred's mouth, Arthur had paled. Neither of them had ever mentioned talk of love, let alone given any thought to the matter. They were in a relationship - maybe - sure. That didn't mean their relationship was anything close to intimate or even serious. Alfred had just crossed the line from casual into serious.

"I love you," he repeated.

"We should go."

Arthur immediately turned away from the American. He wasn't going to deal with the issue at any immediate time. He just wanted to get away from the other. Not more than two steps later had Alfred caught his arm. He pulled him back so they were close together. "I understand if you don't feel the same way or anything. I mean, we haven't been together for that long or anything. I just thought I should tell you, because heroes always get things off their chest like that, and I just thought-"

Alfred was easily quieted from his nervous rambling when Arthur kissed him. "We need to talk," he told the other, "but it's really dangerous here, remember? We have to get out of town as soon as we can. Then we'll talk about this. Really, it's a quite overdue conversation."

"Oh, yeah." The implications started to set in. "Artie! I don't want to go!" The exclamation was soft, but Arthur still glanced around them nervously. He grabbed Alfred's arm and began to pull him away from the scene. If what Francis had said was true, they would be found soon if they hadn't already. For all they knew they were being followed.

"I don't either, Alfred, but you heard Francis. Things are worse than we thought. We haven't been out of that hanger very often. It was only a matter of time until we were found there anyway. We need to go somewhere safe. We can't talk until all this is solved. We need to find the Queen."

"And the President," Alfred added quietly. His head was hanging somewhat. He seemed ashamed of having left the well-being of the President out of the equation. Both world leaders had been missing for six months. The chances of both of them being alive was slim, and they both knew it. Neither of them would actually admit the fact that they'd gone officially missing and that they were probably being accused of their kidnapping. Neither of them had actually _seen_ it anywhere that they weren't perfectly fine. They both knew it was the only explanation though.

"And the President," Arthur agreed. "We've been spending all our time just trying not to get caught. It seems that time has passed. I don't want to live like this forever. It's time we actually go out and try to do something if the authorities aren't. You need to contact your Ron friend."

Alfred nearly froze but the press of time kept him going. They released their holds on each other when they reached a more populated area. They both made sure to keep their heads down and walk calmly. Anything that made them appear like they were just taking a normal walk was a good thing. Alfred's sudden tension was not one of those things.

He shook his head at the very suggestion. "I'm not calling him."

"You have to, Alfred!" Arthur made sure to keep his exclamation at a normal level. "If there's anyone who has an in when it comes to what's going on it's him. That is to say that he's in our ability to contact. The same thing that happened to Charles might have happened to him." Another painful string was pulled. So much for a vacation. No one had made it out unscathed. It was one more reason to tack up with his reasons to dislike the American country.

"I won't. Something was never quite right with him. For all we know he was in on the entire thing!" Arthur didn't quite understand Alfred's dislike for the American guard, but he decided once again not to push the issue. If Alfred didn't like the idea then fine. He was going to put up with Arthur's next one.

"Then there's only one thing left to do. We're going to break into Buckingham Palace."

/DUN DUN DUN. I felt that would be appropriate there./


	6. Queen's Quarters

(**Disclaimer: **I do not claim to own Hetalia: Axis Powers in any way.)

"You're crazy!"

"There's nothing crazy about breaking into Buckingham Palace," Arthur answered flatly. He crossed his arms in an angry fashion and turned his back to the American. No one bothered to look over at the couple sitting in the park. It wasn't that odd of a thing really. Thankfully it was rather secluded and when they sat facing each other it was easy to watch out for anyone potentially watching them. It was really the only place they ever went to when leaving the hanger where they'd made their humble little home. "I thought you were the hero, ready for any challenge thrown at you!"

"I am ready for anything! It doesn't mean I'll do anything!"

Arthur just grumbled angrily. "We're wanted criminals, there's probably a hefty bounty on our heads for capture, our best friends - and bosses - have been kidnapped and we're the likely suspects, we have no leads, and you refuse to call the only person who could potentially give us information at this point. What other choice do we have?"

Alfred leaned forward angrily. This was the first fight they'd actually had in months. When they'd first been on the run, it had all been about danger and staying safe. They'd looked out for each other and quickly grown an attraction to one another. Arguments since then had been far and in between. Going back to the arguing routine they'd had the first day they'd met was not particularly pleasant on Arthur's part. He'd grown used to a thoughtful Alfred. He was sure he'd mellowed out quite a bit as well. The Englishman knew he'd lost his fire, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing to have come back.

"I don't get why you even want to _attempt_ that in the first place!"

"The White House is all closed up. There's no person that goes in or out of the place without perfect authorization. The building is swarming with officers no doubt, even after all this time. The Secret Service will have the place under perfect lock down to keep the rest of the Presidential family safe. Buckingham Palace on the other hand may be accessible."

"For what?"

"To figure out why the Queen was in America. Unless of course, you have the information and conveniently forgot to mention it to me." There was obvious bite in Arthur's words, and they only seemed to aggravate Alfred more, not that Arthur cared, of course. The American simply stared at him furiously as if daring him to say any more. Arthur almost did out of spite.

Finally Alfred gave up. He turned away himself and suddenly neither of them were watching behind the other for danger. "I have no idea why they were meeting. I was just told you were coming a couple of hours before you did. Business stuff I guess."

"Well, that was quite a conclusion. They were meeting over _business_ things."

Alfred hissed angrily at the spite and sarcasm that was quite obvious in Arthur's tone. He was ready to make a sharp retort of his own when a child screamed nearby in the park. The both of them immediately unfolded their arms and turned to each other.

Nervous looks were passed over the other's shoulders for any signs of danger. Arthur caught the sight of a mother rushing over to her son who had fallen off a swing. He relaxed almost immediately. Nothing of real harm. Well, with the exception of the guilt. It clouded him immediately. His brows knitted together in concern, and he immediately regretted his actions.

"I'm sorry!"

"So am I, Alfred." Arthur was surprised that Alfred had rushed his apology first. They both knew they were at fault. If anything would have happened to Alfred because he hadn't been paying attention to his side of the park he would regret it forever. "I understand that you don't want to use Captain Ron's help. He did seem to dislike you. There was no reason for me to get angry."

Alfred nodded in an ashamed fashion. "I know you just want to help the Queen. She's your only friend. I want to help the President too. I shouldn't have just called you crazy. I should have actually listened." They sounded like small children who had just been told to reconcile by their parents after a fight. Arthur knew that, it didn't mean he had to care though. He was just glad to not be arguing with Alfred anymore. The kiss that followed was far from childish however. It was cut short due to both of their nerves over danger coming.

"So, are we agreed on going to Buckingham Palace?"

"How do you expect to get on a plane? We're public enemies number one and two. There's no way we're just going to be able to waltz into the airport without every FBI agent swarming at us."

"Then we find a private plane."

Alfred's lips pursed. "Can you fly a plane? We can't just hire some pilot to fly us across the Atlantic with no questions. Do you know how many strings would be attached to that? There's no chance we'd get out unscathed."

A new anger was building up within the Englishman. He didn't dare let any of that show, less he start up another argument. It was nice to be on speaking terms with the American. "What do you suggest we do then?" All right, so maybe there was a bit of annoyance in his voice, but he couldn't help that!

There was a bright smirk forming on the American's lips. "It just so happens that I can fly a plane. To make it way more awesome I happen to own a private plane."

"You could have said that earlier."

"Where's the fun in that?"

* * *

><p>A nervous shiver ran through Arthur's form. All right, so maybe the idea had seemed good before, but now Arthur just wanted out. He hadn't considered the condition of the plane when he'd decided with Alfred that the other's plane would be their best option. He also hadn't considered at the time that Alfred probably wasn't the best option for a pilot either.<p>

Alfred climbed up into the plane beside Arthur. He kissed the other quickly before pulling his goggles on over his eyes. "Relax, Artie," he laughed comfortingly when he noticed the other's tension. It wasn't at all comforting to the Englishman. "I've got some connections over in Wales. We'll fly there and see where that puts us."

There was no way that Arthur was going to trust himself to speak. Instead he just nodded a bit violently before cringing as Alfred started the plane. The propellers spun around violently as the wheels squeaked somewhat while the American directed the plane from the barn. No hanger, nothing of the sort. They were in a barn.

"Take a nap, Artie! We'll be there in no time!"

They were not, in fact, there in no time. In fact, it actually took a long time, and while Arthur did somehow manage to find some time to sleep during the trip it hadn't been restful. The moments had been far between, and Arthur was more than happy when they touched the ground outside of London. Arthur recognized the city immediately when they flew nearby.

He didn't bother to even correct the other irritably about his mix-up over Wales opposed to their actual landing in London. Instead he simply removed himself from the plane as quickly as he could. The Englishman was actually _shaking_ from the trip. This was just ridiculous!

Alfred simply turned a few dials and pulled himself out. He laughed as he came around the plane to stand beside Arthur. The other still had his goggles on, and he seemed quite happy about the whole trip. Actually, he had seemed quite thrilled the entire time. The smile on his lips had never left during flight - that Arthur had seen, of course.

"That was fun? Why so shaky?" Alfred chuckled before pulling his goggles off. He took Arthur's goggles from his shaking hand and tossed both pairs into the airplane. Arthur simply glared after him though it held little conviction. At the moment he was more preoccupied with putting up a strong face. He was terrified of having to return back to America in the plane. Hopefully everything would be figured out by then and he would never have to go back.

"You do know there's a rather large difference between Cardiff and London, right?" Arthur finally snapped in an effort to cover up his shakiness. In fact, it was a much better occurrence for them to arrive in London rather than Cardiff. Arthur wasn't about to tell Alfred that, however.

The taller blond's face scrunched up dramatically. "You sure?" Arthur just sighed in irritation before making his way out of the hanger they had occupied with the plane. Even if the flight hadn't been that pleasant, Arthur couldn't say that Alfred was a terrible pilot. In fact, his landing skills had been phenomenal. Not that Arthur would ever tell that to the American's face of course. They would just boost the other's ego, and that was certainly something no one needed.

"Where are we?" It was beautiful outside. The sky was a bright colour, and it made Arthur smile immediately. Alfred watched him lovingly as he came closer. The Englishman hadn't realized just how much he'd missed the English countryside in the time he'd been gone. Six month really was a long time. It had been so long since he'd been home.

"There's a German guy who lives here," Alfred answered quietly. He hated to speak and disrupt the Englishman's serene expression. It was a face he'd never seen the other make, and he loved it. "He owes me a favor or two."

"He owns all this?"

"Yeah, he does. He built it all up from scratch. There was nothing here. His brother used to date mine, see," Alfred explained. Arthur pulled his eyes away to look over at the other. "That was a way long time ago though, like, before I met the President. The guy, Gilbert, he got really sick and they were dating long distance anyway. It was just best to cut the relationship off. The guy who owns this place built everything here for Gilbert."

Arthur allowed himself to lean against the other. "That's beautiful. It's almost like a love story." He smiled somewhat to himself. It wasn't a love story, of course. After all, the two were brothers, not lovers. The shorter of the two caught a furtive glance up at the other blond who was now looking out of the doors.

Would Alfred go to such lengths for him? Had he already with this crazy plan to travel to Buckingham Palace? Arthur already knew the consequences if either of them got caught. There was an incredibly real chance that Alfred wouldn't make it out alive.

A gentle tug made Arthur realize that Alfred had caught his staring. The American simply smiled at him endearingly as if he found the entire display adorable - and Arthur _wasn't_ adorable in any sense of the word - and tugged a bit more. "Let's go get some sleep. It's been a long time since we last slept, and we're still on American time. We'll figure out just what we're going to do later."

Alfred led Arthur by the hand into a locked room in the back. The American had a key he'd pulled from the cockpit of the plane that easily unlocked the door. Inside was a small bed, a couch, and a small television that Arthur was pretty sure didn't work. If it did, reception had to be terrible.

"What if your German friend comes in?"

"He won't. He'll leave the plane alone and everything. He owes me some favors, remember?"

Arthur just shook his head at the other's trusting nature. After all this time, he still had it in some regards. "Go to sleep, Artie, I'm here to protect you." Arthur wanted to ask who was there to protect him if something went wrong, but he was just too tired to form the right words.

* * *

><p>The slam of a door startled Arthur into wakefulness. He would have been on his feet if they hadn't immediately tangled themselves in the sheets on the bed. Well, this was going to be good. He was going to be arrested because he'd tripped and fallen due to sheets. It would make a good headline, he supposed. Well, not to mention his apparent lack of clothes for he was only wearing his boxers now. When had that happened?<p>

"Refreshments?"

Arthur blinked in confusion. He heard Alfred groan. "I told you to be quiet!" he grumbled angrily. The blond in the doorway holding a tray with two cups looked somewhat ashamed of his actions. "Don't worry about it, I guess. Too late now. 'Morning, Artie, or good night, I guess. I didn't want to wake you or anything."

"I apologize for waking you," the man in the doorway said. He set the tray on the table in front of the couch where Alfred was sitting. Alfred was fully clad. Arthur was bright red and soon covering himself back up on the bed. "I'm Ludwig, I own the estate."

Before the Englishman could speak, he had to clear his throat. "I-I'm Kirkland, Arthur Kirkland. I really appreciate you allowing us to barrow your home for the time being. I promise we won't intrude for too long." It only occurred to Arthur after he'd said it that he probably shouldn't be giving this stranger his name. What if Alfred was using a fictitious name? Had Arthur just given the entire game away?

"Alfred is a friend," the German told him. "I know about the predicament the two of you are in at the moment. Alfred was telling me about your plan to break into Buckingham Palace. I think the idea is crazy myself, but I would like to help if I can. You just need to ask."

"And I told you that this was better as a two person job," Alfred told the other.

"We do appreciate the offer though. If we ever need anything we'll be sure to tell you." An almost annoyed glare was sent at Alfred who immediately balked and frowned at him.

"I understand. It is really more of a one person job, correct?" The German focused his attention on Alfred quite firmly. Arthur could still see the almost sad look in his eyes though. A sobered up look came to Alfred's face as he nodded. Arthur simply watched the display with his emerald eyes and decided that it would be best not to ask any questions. "It was quite a pleasure to see the both of you."

A gentle smile and nod was Arthur's answer to Ludwig. The German was frowning again - Arthur had the impression he did that a lot - as he left. "Alfred, why am I naked?" was the first question that came from Arthur's lips the moment that the door closed and left the two of them alone.

Alfred smirked over at him with a mixture of mischievousness and playfulness. "You look better that way." Arthur simply gawked at him. He wanted to point out that that was pretty much harassment, but he didn't have the voice to tell him out of embarrassment especially because they'd never actually seen each other like, well...like that.

Alfred stood up from his seat on the couch and came over to the bed. He crawled up to straddle the other's hips and leaned down to brush their noses. Arthur found himself reaching up to kiss gently at the other's lips. Arthur found his lips curving up into a happy smile at the same time that Alfred's did the same.

"I'm _so_ in love with you," Alfred mumbled happily against his lips. He met them again but the moment he noticed Arthur's sudden unresponsiveness he paused. "Artie?" The moment he caught the sight of Arthur's devastated expression he smiled sadly. "You don't have to say it back yet. I just need to make sure that you know. We could die at any time. I want to make sure you know in case it's too late. I love you."

Arthur let his arms wrap around Alfred's neck. He was so ashamed with himself for not being able to say the words back to the other. Tears began to well up in his eyes unhappily. Why couldn't he say the words back to the other? This was love he felt, right? If it was love why couldn't he say that?

"Arthur, please don't cry." Gentle lips touched just under his eyes at the tears. The loving tone in the American's voice only caused Arthur's tears to come down his cheeks faster. Alfred seemed at a complete loss for what to do and searched Arthur's face for any sign of what he should do sadly. Alfred had probably never dealt with a crying lover before, especially not a male one.

He was so weak.

The Englishman allowed his fingers to lace through Alfred's straw-coloured hair and tug at the locks between his fingers. Alfred took his as a signal to kiss the other again, and he was more than happy to oblige. He wanted to do whatever would make Arthur happy again.

"What's going to happen to us after this is over, Alfred?"

"Let's just make sure we're not thrown in prison first."

* * *

><p>"This doesn't look like much of a palace," Alfred dead-panned. He watched the activity outside Buckingham Palace skeptically. There wasn't much for the American to watch, there was very few people out at the current hour of the morning.<p>

Arthur just sent the American a somewhat irritated look. He really had no room to talk when it came to government buildings. "Welcome to Buckingham Palace." There was plenty of windows but no chance that they would get in one of them undetected.

"We can get tickets for a tour later. It'll have to be this afternoon though. Sometime when it's crowded so we can sneak away." Arthur looked up at Alfred in surprise. When the American had sudden strokes of genius, Arthur still found himself surprised when it happened. He really shouldn't have been all that shocked anymore. As he'd found out, Alfred actually had a degree in some science field. That was more than Arthur could claim. He hadn't even graduated out of college.

"Let's just hope that because of the Queen..." Alfred nodded sympathetically in understand when Arthur trailed into silence. Arthur just returned the nod and forced himself to smile when Alfred linked their fingers. "Let's just hope that they're still having tours. Security might have closed down the building to tourists for the time being."

Alfred gave Arthur's hand a quick squeeze before releasing him. The Englishman couldn't help but feel empty when he did that. A small pout formed on his lips, a new habit he'd picked up from the American over the past couple of months.

When he seemed to notice the other's pout, he smiled apologetically. "I'll go over and get us some tickets. Sit down, you should relax. If you're all tense we won't do well later. You do know the layout of the building, right?"

"Of course I know where we're going if that's what you're asking!" Arthur crossed his arms over his chest angrily. The Englishman was far from angry, however. IT was always good to use a playful front with the taller male.

Alfred placed a gentle kiss on Arthur's forehead. He smiled lovingly. "Just making sure. I was always so high and mighty about knowing my way around the White House." Alfred glanced around the nearly deserted court secretly. He leaned down to whisper secretively in Arthur's ear. Apparently he was about to disclose some incredibly sensitive information. "I meant to be in the Oval Office that day we met. The couch in there is really comfy. I have no idea where we actually were."

"You bloody twat!" Arthur growled affectionately. He uncrossed his arms, and Alfred ducked before Arthur could swat him. It did place him in the perfect position for Arthur to ruffle Alfred's hair. The Englishman couldn't do that normally with how tall the other was. "How am I supposed to deal with you?"

"I'm perfectly easy to deal with! You on the other hand, Artie..." Alfred laughed even when the Englishman clubbed him behind the ear. "You know I love you anyway, Artie!" The tall American stood to his feel height and wrapped Arthur in a rather embracing hug.

Arthur fought his way out of the hold, hissing and spitting the entire way. Alfred just laughed and the smaller blond couldn't help but smile at him somewhat. Alfred received a gentle pat on the head from the Englishman.

When he received the smile, Alfred seemed to know he was out of danger. It wasn't that he'd been in any real danger. It was always good to be cautious with Arthur though. He could get incredibly emotional in no time at all.

"I'll go get those tickets then."

"Oh, no, you're not leaving me here alone."

"I'm not leaving you alone. I'll be over there, that's all." It seemed like pointing in the direction he was going was supposed to prove to Arthur that he would be perfectly safe.

Arthur's wasn't buying that; he latched his arm around Alfred's "I know you've seen all the good action movies. If you split up, something bad always happens." This was the real world, not an action movie, but the principals were still the same, right?

Alfred seemed to think oppositely. He chuckled slightly at the smaller Englishman. "You're adorable. You just want the hero by your side, I get it, it makes sense. Who wouldn't want this, after all?" At that exact moment Alfred began to pose heroically. Arthur couldn't help but laugh. He leaned against Alfred nuzzling against his shoulder lovingly.

The woman at the information center didn't pay too much attention to them. In fact, she seemed a little annoyed that they'd dare disturb her so early in the morning. However, when Alfred flashed his bright smile, she seemed to soften. She smiled back at him though not nearly as warmly. "What can I help you with today?" she asked delicately.

"We were wondering if there were tickets available for a tour this afternoon." He gestured to Buckingham Palace behind them as if to emphasize his point. The woman working at the counter nodded knowingly.

"What time?"

She was turning to her computer ready to get them tickets for their desired time. "Two?" Alfred asked sheepishly. Arthur just nodded to confirm the time. The Englishman nearly jumped when Alfred's hand brushed his unexpectedly. A light reddening came to his cheeks when he allowed Alfred to lace their fingers together again. He caught the American smiling at him gently.

It was startling to realize the woman was still there when she spoke. "Here you are, two tickets for the afternoon tour." She passed them over to Alfred easily. It didn't seem that she'd noticed the tender moment she had interrupted. It was probably for the best though. The more they were distracted from their goal the longer they would have to be in hiding.

"Now we wait."

"I hate waiting."

* * *

><p>Out of the corner of his emerald eyes, Arthur was keeping a close watch on the female tour guide in the front of the group. With the way she kept switching the company's attention around the rooms, she was making it really quite impossible to sneak away.<p>

Time was beginning to press on the Englishman's shoulders. If they didn't get out of the group soon they would lose their chance to escape into Buckingham Palace alone. He was sure the tour would be drawing to a close soon. "Now, as we continue this way," the female guide called to their rather large group.

This was it! Their opening was finally here!

Arthur grapped Alfred's arm tightly and as a majority of the group had passed around the next corner, Arthur fell against the wooden paneling. Alfred let out an incredibly unheroic squeak that Arthur quickly covered. They toppled into a mass on the ground, limbs tangled together.

The Englishman scurried to his feet to arrange the paneling they'd just come through back to its normal position. "Artie!" A heated emerald glared shushed him immediately. Arthur listened carefully but by the sounds of things, no one had noticed they'd gone missing from the group. If they were lucky, no one ever would. "Whoa, what happened to this place?"

When he deemed that they were safe for the time being, Arthur allowed himself to evaluate the room they'd entered. "They've been doing searches in here," Arthur answered calmly. A sharp pain entered his chest at the sight. Nothing was broken but all the books had been pulled from the shelves, and the shelves themselves were being torn down.

"Is this the Queen's room?"

"No," Arthur answered. He could feel more tears welling up in his eyes. "It's mine." He stepped forward to gently run his finger along the polished wood of his desk. The pictures from the top of his desk were gone and no where to be seen. They'd probably been taken for use later by the authorities. "We should go, there's not a lot of time, we could be found at any minute. The Queen's room is just through here."

There was another passage that led directly from his room to the Queen's. It was the most private of the passages. The Queen and himself were the only two who knew of its exsistance. Well, it was very likely that Charles knew as well. Charles always seemed to know. Where was Charles now? Was he even still alive?

"Artie..."

"Don't worry about me, Alfred. The Queen and the President are what matter. Everything in here was just a posession. Posessions can be replaced. People can't." He stepped through the newly displaced paneling to enter the Queen's chambers.

"Arthur, you act like you don't care all the time, but I can see you hurting inside. Won't you talk to me?" Alfred was practically pleading. Arthur didn't dare look back to see what he was sure was a puppy-dog expression on Alfred's face. He didn't want anyone's pity, especially not Alfred's.

Arthur shook his head while heading to the Queen's own desk. "There's nothing to talk about, Alfred. That life in there is gone now." He sat down in the Queen's chair and proceeded to open the drawers in search of any clues as to why the Queen had been traveling to America.

"It is about time the both of you arrived. It is so very nice of you to finally join us." The two looked up in fear and surprise at the sound of another voice. There as a man in the corner gun trained pointedly on Alfred - he was obviously the largest threat.

The man was unfamiliar in his stripped suit. There was a light smirk playing across his lips. It seemed he thought it a great accomplishment to have finally succeeded in finding them. Arthur couldn't help but wonder who he was. He sounded American, which explained why he wasn't at all familiar. The look on Alfred's face clearly showed that he didn't know the identitiy of their captor either.

"You see, I've been waiting a very long time for the two of you to finally come. Where have the two of you been hiding for the last six months? You're very good at it, though I'm sure the two of you have friends working with you. A certain Francis Bonnefoy for starters." When Arthur flinced, the man's smirk widened. "Yes, I know Mr. Bonnefoy sent you a warning. Mr. Beillschmidt gave you a place to spend the night."

"Don't touch him!" Alfred growled.

"Oh, Mr. Ludwig Beillschmidt is just fine, Mr. Jones. His brother on the other hand, Gilbert, is it? His name doesn't really matter though, does it? He may not be as fine." The unknown man cocked his gun when it was obvious Alfred meant to tackle him. "Now, now, Mr. Jones, I would reconsider if I were you. Of course, shooting you would be no fun. Mr. Kirkland on the other hand." The gun was not pointed in Arthur's direction.

The Englishman didn't dare take his eyes off of the suited man. He heard Alfred make a strangled noise of protest, but the shorter blond quieted him. "Don't give him the satisfaction of watching you squirm, Alfred." Despite his cool words he was terrified inside. He didn't want to die yet. "Would you like to inform us of your name, sir?"

"How stupid do you think I am? I'm not about to say my name aloud when others could be listening." The man sneered at Arthur, and this just seemed to set Alfred off more than he already was. Arthur let out a small hiss at him to calm himself.

"Put down the weapon!" another voice shouted. It was surprisingly female. "Put down the weapon, Hamlet!" The man growled in displeasure at the intrusion. Only the interruption of more people drew Arthur's attention away from the gun still pointed at him.

"You're not really in the position to negotiate. I'll kill him, don't think I won't." He made emphasized motions at Arthur, but while he was paying more attention to the two invading the room, he hadn't noticed Alfred come from the side. The American tackled the other to the ground, wrestling the gun from his grip.

"Alfred!"

The sound of a gunshot rang through the room.

"Run!" Ron Butcher of the Secret Service yelled at him.

Arthur hestitated. He couldn't leave without Alfred! When it was clear that Arthur didn't plan on moving, Ron let out an angry growl. He lowered his gun and swept by Arthur, taking a strong grip - though not nearly as strong as Alfred's - and pulled him out of the room.

"Alfred! No, we can't leave Alfred!" the Englishman protested. He pulled at Ron's grip on him. There was a cracking sound, and Ron released him with a hiss of pain. When he found himself free, he made a mad dash back for the Queen's chambers but more hands managed to find him and hold him back.

"Calm yourself! We must get out of here!" The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but Arthur wouldn't allow himself to process that. All that mattered was getting back to Alfred. Was he the one who had been shot? Why had he pulled such a foolish stunt? Arthur could feel tears falling fast down his cheeks. When had that happened?

More hands reached at him until they finally managed to get the upper hand with more strength and pull him down the halls of Buckingham Palace and finally into a waiting car outside. "Let me go, bloody wankers!" The doors clicked locked and pulled into motion before he could get out of them. "Alfred!"

Everything was a blur and all he could process was that he had to get back to Alfred and these people were keeping them apart. He didn't care that he was probably being sent to prison somewhere. Alfred could be dead right now. His emerald eyes were blinded by the tears.

"I'm sorry, cher." Definitely familiar.

"Francis, we have to save Alfred!"

"We cannot, cher," Francis replied apologetically. Arthur could practically hear the pain in the Frenchman's voice. Why did he have any right to be in pain? The best course of actions seemed to be to pound against Francis' chest to take away his aggression out on the other, so Arthur did just that. "They'll get him back for you, cher. There's no need to cry."

The Frenchman seemed to understand that wouldn't sooth him though. He allowed Arthur to take out his frustration and anger on him until he calmed down to simply crying weakly against his shoulder. "What if - what if he's dead, Francis?"

"I'm sure he's in the car right behind us," Francis answered, but he didn't seem at all sure of that.

/Ah, what will happen next? Did Alfred die? Is Ron behind it all? Maybe Francis is. What is Francis doing in England anyway? Why was it so easy to break into Buckingham Palace? Did that guy - Hamlet - seriously stand creepily in the corner every day for the past six months?

Tell me what you think! /


	7. Love and Questions

(**Disclaimer: **I do not claim to own Hetalia: Axis Powers in any way.)

The smell of freshly fallen rain was the first thing that Arthur noticed. It smelled so much like _home _to the distressed Englishman. It sickened him. He'd shared his first kiss with Alfred across the ocean in the American rain.

Francis opened the door and tried to help him out when the car had rolled to a stop, but Arthur outwardly refused the help. He heard the Frenchman sigh somewhat but accept the rude treatment to his help. The door closed loudly behind him.

The trip to, well, Arthur wasn't exactly sure where they were, had been relatively quiet. Once Arthur had calmed down, there had been silence. The person driving the car was unfamiliar; Arthur was sure that should have concerned him more than it did. In fact, he found that he didn't really care at all. That really should have been his first warning that something was terribly wrong with him.

Why should he care? Alfred was dead now, nothing else mattered compared to that.

"Cher, please," Francis pleaded a bit. It really wasn't a flattering quality on him. He was hurrying after the Englishman who was taking rather large strides. "Arthur, cher, you must calm yourself!" The Frenchman reached out to stop him, but Arthur turned on him with a furious growl.

"Don't 'cher' me, bloody git!" he snarled viciously. "I'm not even relatively interested in you. I'm not _yours_!" He could feel tears coming back into his eyes.

Francis' expression softened. He reached out to the smaller blond, but Arthur shouldered him away. The other's blue eyes filled with a bit of hurt, but Arthur could see understanding there as well. "I apologize, Arthur," he said, discarding the French. "I did not understand that you loved him that much. I simply assumed that it was a simple attraction due to the circumstances the two of you were in. I apologize for that."

"You don't understand," Arthur growled out. How could he? Had he been running for his life for six months? Did he go to sleep every night, terrified that it would be his last? No, no, he did not, so he couldn't understand what was happening to Arthur.

Francis answered dismissively, "Maybe not, but I know someone who will understand. Would you care to join me, Arthur?" He held out his arm for Arthur to take. His voice had lost its softened nature as had most of his features. He quirked an eyebrow when Arthur hesitated.

Finally, the Englishman relented. He allowed his arm to be linked with the Frenchman's as the other led him inside. The driver and Ron - who had been seated in the passenger seat - had long since gone inside the house they were now parked in front of. The area around them was deserted. Arthur couldn't help but feel sorry for the person who had to live alone, so far away from the city.

Francis opened the door for him and led him inside. The room they entered was clearly the dinning room. The entire place felt so welcoming that Arthur was overcome with longing. He'd missed actually living in a house, he missed the warmth, he missed the feeling of security that overcame him instantly the moment he stepped across the threshold.

"Ludwig," Arthur said in a bit of surprise. Should he really have been that surprised though? The man with the gun had said they'd captured his brother. It wasn't much of a surprise that the people helping Arthur would be helping Ludwig as well. "I'm sorry about your brother."

At the sound of his voice the German looked up at him. He didn't seem at all surprised to find Arthur there. He must have known that they - whoever they were - would be going after him and Alfred. The very thought of the happy blond sent a shot of pain through him.

"Gilbert will be fine," Ludwig answered. He sounded so sure. How could he be so sure that his brother was going to be just fine? How could he be so sure when Arthur was just as certain that Alfred was now dead? Why was he allowed the luxury of confidence?

"They took his amant as well," Francis told him quietly.

A bitter, almost distressed frown was on Ludwig's lips when he heard the Frenchman speak. Arthur noticed for the first time the picture Ludwig had clutched desperately in between his fingers. They were shaking violently. The German's knuckles were a pearly white from how hard he was clutching the photograph in his fingers.

Arthur's expression softened as he released Francis. He stepped around the table to pull out a chair beside Ludwig. A quick glance at the image showed a pleased looking German and a rather excited boy. The German's blue eyes were watching him rather fondly.

"Who's that?" Arthur asked gently.

"My Feliciano."

Arthur nodded in understanding. "How did the two of you meet?" he prodded.

The German man looked up at Francis. "He introduced us." Arthur couldn't help but be surprised. The two knew each other already? They'd known each other before all this had happened to them? "Francis went to school with Gilbert," Ludwig went on to explain. "They were friends with Antonio who is engaged to Feliciano's brother."

"You all went to school together?"

"It was a sort of foreign student exchange program based here in London. I never actually went and neither did Feliciano. He was visiting his brother on holiday from Italy when we were introduced." Ludwig seemed to sadden at the memories as he gently touched his fingers to the photograph of Feliciano.

"I was a student guide there," Arthur stated in surprise. There was only one school in London that had those qualities. Of course there were other schools with exchange programs, but only one that specialized in it. No English students attended. He'd simply been a guide working their in his spare time. Of course, he hadn't shown up for duty very often.

The driver from earlier came back into the room followed closely by Ron. The Secret Service agent's hand was splinted carefully. The bandage looked fresh. Had he been the one to be shot earlier? Arthur hated the fact that his spirits rose at the very thought. He didn't want to be one of those people who wished harm on others. He immediately felt ashamed, but the hopeful feeling didn't leave.

There was another person following along behind them. He was shorter than the others and seemed a bit nervous. The moment he spotted their group around the table his shoulders slumped in relief. "Matthieu," Francis practically purred to the new arrival to the room.

The blond came over to the Frenchman. The two of them shared a quick kiss before the smaller blond flushed lightly and looked away shyly. Arthur was merely surprised. Even in all this danger Francis had still managed to find someone to lavish his affections upon? "Where's Alfred?" the blond asked. He looked questioningly at Francis, hope clear in his blue eyes. There was affection in his tone.

"Matthieu..."

"You know Alfred?" Arthur demanded. He couldn't help but feel a bit angry or was that jealousy? Arthur was sizing the other blond up with somewhat angry eyes. No one was allowed to speak about his Alfred, to _care_ about his Alfred...

The blond seemed surprised and a bit sheepish when addressing Arthur. The Englishman knew that his angry tone had probably set the other male on edge. Francis glared across the table at him and was about to bite out a sharp remark when the door flew open wildly. "Artie! The hero is home!" The laughter that followed was complete bliss.

"Alfred!" When had he moved from his seat at the table? All he knew was that he was now in Alfred's arms, and that was really all that mattered. How could he have ever doubted Alfred's ability to stay alive? Hadn't he learned anything in the past six months? Alfred was a survivor. They both were.

"Someone's happy to see me." Alfred was smiling happily, of that Arthur was sure. The taller blond was leaning down somewhat so Arthur didn't have to reach up as far. Arthur buried his head into Alfred's neck breathing in the American's scent. He'd missed that.

"Shut up, you git."

Arthur pulled away to meet their lips desperately. It was as if they'd been apart for years not just an hour. Arthur felt a desperate need pressing at him. He had to make the most of this. It had simply reinforced the fact that they could die at any moment. Somewhere along the line he'd really forgotten that fact. It had always been present in his mind but almost as a fantasy.

Alfred was smiling against him; Arthur could tell. "I love you, Alfred." How could he have not said it before? It was true. What had kept the information withheld inside? What if Alfred had really died? Arthur would never have forgiven himself for not being able to tell the other.

Now Alfred was definitely smiling. "I love you too." He didn't comment on how Arthur had finally said it. He hadn't made some smart comment to ruin the moment. He'd been gentle. Arthur couldn't help but love him a little more for that.

The Englishman's hands slipped down from around Alfred's neck down to his shoulders. Well, until the sharp hiss of pain that made him withdraw quickly. Alfred pulled him back close however. There was a glaze of pain covering his bright cerulean eyes. That's when Arthur noticed his shirt. Alfred had most certainly not been wearing that shirt when he'd last seen him.

"You got shot!"

Alfred kissed Arthur's lips. "But I'm better now."

Arthur tried to pull away to make Alfred sit down but the American refused to let him go. "You still got shot! You should be bloody resting!" Worry was clouding his emerald eyes, but Alfred just proceeded to give him gentle pecks on the lips as if it would wipe all his worry away. Arthur wasn't about to let it go at that though.

"Alfred, please sit down!"

The American looked over his shoulder to find the blond who'd come in earlier. "Mattie!" he exclaimed. He pulled away from Arthur to wrap his arms around the other blond. The American was laughing happily. All right, so fine, maybe what he had been feeling was complete and utter jealousy. Who was this other person?

Arthur couldn't help but notice that Ludwig had left at some point. The Englishman couldn't really blame him. It would hurt to see someone reunited with the person they loved when you knew that yours wouldn't be returning to you yet. "Do explain, Alfred."

"This is my brother, Mattie!" Alfred exclaimed happily. Oh. They were brothers. Well, Arthur felt embarrassed. In fact, he could feel his face already beginning to heat up a bit. Francis just smirked at him knowingly and much to smugly for the Englishman's liking. "Artie over there is my love-muffin." Arthur simply gawked embarrassed at the American who winked playfully at him.

* * *

><p>"Someone's really affectionate," Alfred laughed against his lips. He pulled Arthur's shirt off over his head to begin a slow progression of kisses down his chest. Arthur let out a gentle moan that only caused Alfred to pull him closer by the hips.<p>

They'd retired to a deserted room in the house when it had become clear that they couldn't keep their hands away from each other. That really hadn't taken them long to decide. Francis' smirk had practically followed them knowingly when they'd announced that they were going to find somewhere to rest. They had been having a long day.

"I thought you had died," Arthur admitted just a bit breathlessly. Alfred managed to pull him closer still at the words. They were pressed flush against each other on the couch. Arthur was straddling Alfred's hips, seated comfortably on his lap. He would have continued if Alfred hadn't silenced him with more kisses.

"Heroes don't die," he bit out between kisses.

There was a grunt of annoyance before, "Can't the two of you get a room?"

"Well, actually, we did, and we're in it," Alfred stated without even bothering to see who it was. Arthur began to flush with embarrassment and scurry off the American, but despite his wound Alfred still managed to keep Arthur from going anywhere. It probably helped that Arthur wasn't trying all that hard to remove himself. Alfred turned Arthur's face back to him before kissing him again.

"Get an _actual_ room."

Alfred pulled away a bit angrily. "Oh." He spoke quietly, voice full of undisguised contempt. "It's you. Why am I not surprised?" Arthur didn't like the sneer that was on the American's lips. To distract him and wipe it away, Arthur kissed gently along his jaw. There. That was the smile that Arthur adored so much back on his lips.

A gentle purr came from the younger blond's lips. He reached up to gently stroke Arthur's shaggy hair. The cerulean eyes were softened lovingly. Arthur used the opportunity to kiss him again on the lips. "We should get a more private place," he whispered against the American's lips.

"And give him the satisfaction? I think not."

"Could you please leave us, Mr. Butcher?" Arthur requested gently. He knew that it had to be the Secret Service agent, or the previous Secret Service agent as it seemed. There was no person that Alfred held more contempt for than the man. It would be easier to request he leave then to try to convince Alfred to leave by this point.

There was a chuckling laugh that Arthur immediately recognized as belonging to a certain Frenchman. He forced himself to ignore that though in favor of pressing himself closer to Alfred. Couldn't the two of them have just a bit more time alone? "The lover's room, non? Come along, Matthieu," the Frenchman chuckled.

Finally, blessed silence. Arthur allowed himself to smile again. Well, until he heard the giggling. Giggling, really? It was quickly followed by the deeper chuckle belonging to Francis. "Stop it," Alfred's brother laughed, sounding much less than serious. "Francis!"

"Hey!" snapped Alfred when he caught sight of the other two across the room. Ron had left at some point. He must have given up the hope of commandeering the room for himself. "Don't touch my brother!" There was a furious look in Alfred's blue eyes. Arthur let out an indignant squeak when he was pushed off the American.

"Oh, is there a problem, Alfred," Francis asked delicately. He tugged tenderly at on of Matthew's wayward curls, chuckling at the squeak he received from the blond in his own lap. "I thought that was the new use of this room. I must say that I quite like the idea if I may say so."

"You can't just _make-out_ with my brother in front of me!"

"Matthieu did not seem to be in any hurry to stop Arthur from doing the exact same thing to you." He raised an eyebrow questioningly at the American. Arthur watched them a bit jealous that Alfred was more concerned about that and not him. Matthew simply looked uncomfortable.

"That's different! I'm older!"

"By five minutes," Matthew stated a bit weakly. Twin, huh?

Arthur felt it was about time he intervened before Alfred completely lunged for the Frenchman. That couldn't be good for his injury. He stood from his place on the couch and gently placed his hands on Alfred's shoulder bewaring of the wound on his shoulder. He didn't want to irritate the injury more than it much have already been irritated. "Alfred, come on. You can't watch them all the time."

When Alfred found out that Arthur was siding with the other two, he did not seem at all happy. "What do you mean I can't watch them all the time? Francis just needs to stay away from Mattie. He's a creepy Mattie," the American said, turning to his brother. Matthew simply shook his head in protest which only seemed to anger the taller blond more.

Alfred pushed the Englishman off of him when the other tried to tug him from the room. Arthur winced in pain when this happened. Why was Alfred always forgetting his strength? This seemed to snap it for Francis though. He gently pressed Matthew off of him so he could stand. The Frenchman brushed off his clothes - not that he needed too, Francis never allowed his clothes to wrinkle.

"I think it's about time you discovered your priorities," Francis stated. His voice wasn't cold exactly, but it certainly wasn't happy. His eyes were cold. "Has time with only cher Arthur relieved you of your manners?" The Frenchman kept his eyes locked harshly on the American. He gently patted Matthew on the head before coming before Arthur. "Are you all right, cher?"

"I'm fine, Francis," Arthur answered quietly. He looked away from the other three in the room. In actuality that swat from Alfred hurt quite a bit, but he wasn't about to let the others know that. He didn't dare lie to any of their faces though. Especially not to Alfred's or Francis'. The Frenchman just wanted ot help and Alfred would be absolutely devastated if he found out he'd injured Arthur again.

The Frenchman's expression softened while he watched the Englishman. "We'll get you some ice, non? What about tea? When was the last time you have freshly brewed tea?" Matthew had walked over to the couch and handed Arthur back his discarded shirt. Arthur thanked him quietly while slipping it over his head. Francis' hardened eyes turned back on the American. "I suggest you stay here and think about your actions."

"I'm not a child!"

Francis snorted, "Clearly. Come along, cher," Francis spoke gently to the Englishman as he headed for the door. Arthur didn't dare move though. He could just leave Alfred alone.

"Just go," Alfred snapped at him.

Hurt, Arthur growled a, "Fine, then." He had no more reservations when he followed Francis and Matthew from the room. He could feel the American's eyes following them the entire way out and knew that the American was sorry for his words the moment he'd said them. Arthur had seen the immediate regret once they'd been uttered, but Arthur couldn't help himself. He hated being on the opposite side of Alfred's anger.

"You can do better than him, cher," Francis informed him when they were traveling to the dinning room. "Please, don't stay with him simply because you feel you have no other choice. There are plenty of other people around you now. There is no reason to stay with him any longer."

"Uh, Francis? That is my brother..."

"Yes, Matthieu, but thankfully you're nothing like him." Francis wrapped an arm around Matthew's shoulders and kissed the top of his head lovingly.

"He does have his reasons for being angry, Francis." Despite his own anger with the American, Arthur couldn't let Francis insult him openly. They'd had a small argument, that didn't make Arthur stop loving him. "He's not like this normally. He just gets angry sometimes. No one can say he doesn't deserve to every now and again with all that the two of us have been through."

Francis nodded but didn't seem at all convinced. "I never said that he wasn't allowed to be angry. He should not be allowed to harm you, cher. His anger should be with himself not those around him." Arthur sat at the table while Francis found a package of frozen peas to set on the Englishman's arm. He really wasn't sure why he was allowing Francis to help him when he knew he was perfectly capable of doing so himself.

Arthur held the cold package against his arm. It really was quite comforting. The idea was a bit outlandish of course, it seemed like the exact thing Alfred would decide as a healing remedy. Arthur could never deny that it helped. The cold of the freezer seeped into the arm to cool the heated flesh beneath. "I'm in love with him, Francis."

"Then perhaps you could do with some counseling."

"It's not as if he's like this normally. He's really very sweet." A faint smile came to Arthur's lips at the thought. Despite everything Alfred really was endearing. Dashing and charming, he was quite the fairytale prince. A loving expression came into his eyes. Francis just patted his head as if he were a naive teenager. He clearly didn't approve.

"You just don't know him very well, Francis," the small blond spoke. His voice was so much smaller than his brother's boisterous one. How could they be such opposites? It was odd to think of the two of them growing up together as twins. Not only that, but why had Alfred not mentioned him before? It seemed like a rather large detail for him to leave out. "He's an acquired taste."

The statement made Arthur smile. "He is," the Englishman agreed.

Francis just huffed in some form of irritation. It was an unusual sound to come from the Frenchman. Arthur simply smiled a bit more at that. Francis' face was knitted up in mild concern but mostly simple irritation with the two blonds he was with.

"Artie, I-I mean, Arthur?" The American's head was somewhat visible through the slightly opened door. His blue eyes were worried as he held the edge of the door tightly in one of his hands. His brows were knitted in shame as he quickly looked down. The way he worried his bottom lip between his immaculately taken care of teeth showed that he was nervous. "A-are you still mad at me? I didn't mean to tell you to go away."

Despite what he'd said to Francis, he wanted to be angry with Alfred. The American had no right to speak to him like he had in the other room. They were going through the same things, though Alfred could certainly blame some of his mood on the drugs that he had surely taken for the pain of his injury. Not to mention that he could blame the injury itself.

He couldn't be angry. However much he wanted to. Alfred looked so much like an abandoned puppy in the rain. He just wanted to come inside and be loved. Arthur certainly could blame or condemn him for that. The Englishman knew the moment he'd heard Alfred speak that he couldn't stay angry with him. He certainly was an acquired taste, but the moment one began to love the taste, they couldn't give it up.

No matter what Arthur had been planning on saying it was Francis who managed to speak first. "I think its best if you leave," he told the other coolly. Arthur simply glared at the moody Frenchman. Since when did Francis act like this? All right, so it actually happened quite often but that didn't mean that the Englishman had to like it.

At the words from the tall blond anger ignited in the American's eyes. He looked up to make an angry retort, but it died on his lips when he caught sight of Arthur on the other side of the Frenchman. He quieted himself and looked down in shame. Resigned to his fate, he began to shut the door behind himself.

"Alfred, come here," Arthur breathed. Did Alfred really think he was still angry?

The American peeked carefully into the room. Arthur couldn't help but note with some amusement that he glared at the Frenchman before turning his pleading eyes to Arthur. The Englishman's expression softened with a gentle smile at the younger male. "I can come in?"

"Of course you can come in."

There was a slight squeal of excitement as the American practically pranced into the room. He wrapped his arms happily around the seated Englishman in a much too enthusiastic hug. Despite his distaste, Arthur couldn't help but smile at the gesture. Alfred was sorry, he wanted to show that. Of course the kiss that followed would have done just fine. It had Arthur grinning in pure pleasure by the end simply from the contact.

"I think I'm in love all over again," Alfred told him happily. That was, of course, before he noticed the frozen peas. Arthur felt the American stiffen as well as saw it happen. His body went absolutely rigid. After what seemed like minutes with the absence of movement and sound from the four, Alfred reached out to touch him. He pulled away quickly before he could actually come in contact with the injury, and Arthur was struck with the sudden sense that this entire scene had played out before. "I hurt you again. Why am I always hurting you?"

There were angry tears welling up in Alfred's eyes. "So this has happened before!" Francis sounded much to delighted at being right than Arthur thought was necessary. He wasn't right at all. He didn't know the whole story. Alfred never meant to injure him, he was simply too strong for his own good. How long was that excuse going to keep working though?

"Shut up, frog," Arthur growled at him. His voice was threatening, but it was fairly clear that he wouldn't go through with anything he threatened to do to the other. Francis has been too much of a gentleman the past few hours for Arthur to really find any need to put him in physical harm however much he may have wanted to. "Alfred, love." Arthur gently stroked his hand over the American's defiant cowlick. It was a feature that Arthur was sure he was never going to understand.

"Francis, we should leave them alone."

There was the sliding of chairs and the other two left the room. Arthur had to remember to send Matthew thanks sometime in the future. Maybe the small blond was actually a good thing for Francis. If he had the ability to actually control the Frenchman, maybe Francis was actually serious about the relationship. For once, he might have decided to actually settle down and give an actual relationship a try.

"I'm supposed to be the hero, Arthur! I'm supposed to help everyone out!" Alfred buried his head in his hands. "I'm a terrible hero. I can't stop hurting you, let alone keep you safe from someone else."

"You're the perfect hero, Alfred." Arthur's voice was gentle, loving. His ran his hand through the other's soft hair. "You were shot for me, all because that man had a gun pointed at me. You put yourself in danger for me. These past six months have showed me exactly what kind of hero you are. You're my hero."

Alfred allowed Arthur to gently pull him close. The American nuzzled happily into his side though he wasn't nearly as convinced of his heroics as Arthur seemed to be about it. The grasp was still comforting though, and he couldn't deny the embrace. The American let a slow sigh come from his lips as he closed his eyes. He could do with some sleep.

* * *

><p>"It's like the Secret Service but way more awesome!" Alfred shouted excitedly. Arthur couldn't help but look over at him with a slight frown but just a hint of endearment. The childishness was a bit amusing, especially given their circumstances. The tense atmosphere was quite bothersome really. Alfred easily cut a bit of humour into it.<p>

The people before them didn't seem incredibly impressed with that answer though. In fact, they seemed to be rather irritated by that. "We're much more than a Secret Service. Our organization runs through the entire world and at the moment our top priority is to keep you and the others in this house safe as well as gain back those who were captured."

"Did the Queen know of you?" Arthur couldn't help but answer. Why had he never heard of these people before? Of course, this whole experience had just gone to show him that there was quite a few things that the Queen had kept from him.

"No," another answered. "We are a private organization. We show up when the world needs our services and then leave. There's no reason for anyone outside of the immediate circle to know of our existence."

* * *

><p>Water dripped to the floor in rivulets. It was beginning to pool against the carpeting. The house's carpeting wasn't all that nice anyway. It could do with being replaced. The house hadn't seen a new designer - or paint - in decades. It had been left an abandoned derelict. It wasn't yet used to the knew chaos that was going on within it.<p>

Alfred shook his hair out onto the carpeting. More water rained down. Arthur came around from behind him and handed the American a towel. Alfred smirked playfully before stealing a kiss and proceeding to wring his hair out with the newly acquired towel. The one on his hips was beginning to dip down dangerously, not that he minded of course. In fact, he couldn't help but grin suggestively at this fellow blond companion.

"You're certainly in no shape for that kind of activity," Arthur practically snapped at him. Of course, there was no bite in his voice. In fact, everything he had been saying lately was spoken with such a loving tone. The room had simply emphasized that. He'd missed the hanger where he and Alfred had spent their last six months however absurd that was. He was surprised how much he missed simply being alone with Alfred in an environment where he could pretend that nothing was wrong.

That was never something that lasted long though. The bustle of someone outside their door, knocking, and plans being made was always disrupting that. Arthur came close to the American to run his fingers through the other's tousled, blond hair. Water greeted his fingers, but Arthur didn't mind. He smiled and permitted the water to remain on them.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that." Alfred was smirking with a secret clear in his eyes. The towel dropped to the floor in favor of both of Alfred's hands going to Arthur's hips. He pulled the other in for a kiss, but Arthur couldn't help but notice the grimace of pain that Alfred gave when his moved his arm. That was set on the wayside the moment their lips touched.

Arthur found his legs tangled up with Alfred's as the other stepped forward to push him back. His legs soon came in contact with the sorry excuse for a bed, and he collapsed on it immediately. Alfred was quick to follow, trapping the smaller Englishman under him possessively. Arthur couldn't help but laugh despite the fear pooling in his stomach. Or was that anticipation? Was he ready for this?

A knock at the door saved him from having to discover if he had quite gained the nerve to finally do the dirty with Alfred. "Mr. Kirkland, Mr. Jones, you're wanted in the meeting room." The moment the voice began to speak Alfred had laid his head against Arthur's in some form of despair. Their breath mingled together in their close proximity.

"Artie, please don't get up," Alfred practically begged. It wasn't going to be a simple task to remove himself from under the larger American. In all actuality if he wanted to go anywhere, Alfred would have to move first. It was really all up to him.

The Englishman ran his hand over the other's cheek. "Duty calls, hero," he told the other simply. He didn't dare press against the other to make him move in fear of irritating his already bothered injury. He couldn't help but gently run his fingers over the recently changed bandage. When Alfred winced, Arthur pulled his hand back with a sheepish apology.

"No worries." Alfred bent down to kiss him. In a sudden, dramatic change in mood, he complained childishly, "I don't want to go, Artie. Don't make me. It's going to be all boring, and they're not going to let me do anything because they think I'm too injured. They'll probably send you off to do a scouting mission in like Russia or something and I won't get to see you for two years and when you come back you'll have fallen for some hunky Russian dude."

A laugh came from the Englishman's lips before he could stop himself. "A hunky Russian man, Alfred, really?" He leaned up to meet their lips again. "I'll take you over a hunky Russian any day." Their lips meet again, eagerly. "I'm fairly certain that you'd never let them tell you that you had to stay put while I was allowed to go on a secret mission. I wouldn't want to go if you weren't by my side."

"Aww! Artie!" Another kiss.

"I love you." Another kiss.

"I love you more." Just another kiss.

"Mr. Kirkland? Mr. Jones?"

"Do you think he's been outside the door the entire time?" The very suggestion was bringing a flush to Arthur's cheeks. This was certainly going to be embarrassing. At least they'd locked the door behind them. That was be much harder to explain. "Alfred, you did lock the door, right?"

Alfred knitted his brows in confusion. "Why would I lock the door?"

"Alfred!"

The man from outside was standing in the doorway now. There was a gun held tightly in his hand as he scanned the room for any sign of danger. They quickly landed on Alfred and Arthur sprawled out on the bed in an incredibly compromising position. "Uh...excuse me...I heard you yell and assumed."

A hand was immediately up to cover his face in embarrassment. "It's quite all right," Arthur answered. When he was shocked back into his sense, Alfred quickly scurried off his English lover and into the bathroom to search for some clothes to put on. "We'll be down to the meeting in a few minutes, all right? Tell them we're running a bit late due to personal difficulties. On second though, don't tell them that. We'll just be down soon."

Arthur couldn't uncover his slowly growing flush. He heard the man mumble more apologizes that the Englishman simply waved off before the door shut with a click behind him. There was a large sigh after a few tense moments from the other side of the door before Arthur was certain he heard the man's footsteps as he walked away.

The American quickly hurried out from the bathroom fully garbed this time. He smiled sheepishly before holding out his arm for the other to take. Arthur looked up at him with a bit of surprise at the gentlemanly gesture before denying it. He'd been embarrassed enough for the day he did believe. Instead he simply rose to his feet before leaving the room.

"Lock it this time, will you?"

* * *

><p>It felt like an interrogation. Water was offered almost continuously though no one ever took it. Arthur had asked for tea multiple times but had been denied each time. Ludwig had visited once and told their questioners that it was about time the two blond's had a break. Arthur couldn't help but feel grateful. It had to be getting late now. It seemed like days since he'd come to Buckingham Palace with Alfred.<p>

They were in the basement of the house which offered no windows. He'd been separated with Alfred almost immediately. Their saviors had believed that it would come up with the most optimal documentary on what they'd gone through if they told their stories separately. Alfred had been furious. It made the entire situation feel all the more like they were being held captive.

Arthur finished with the story of how they'd arrived in London. Ron was sitting across the polished table from him while the woman next to him was taking notes. She'd seemed vaguely familiar when Arthur had first seen her come down with the Secret Service agent. It had soon clicked into place that she had been the one to lead the raid on the Queen's chambers in Buckingham Palace.

"You didn't find anything while in Buckingham Palace?" she questioned for perhaps the fifth time. She wasn't even looking at him, rather her notes. Her brows were raised as if she were going to look up at any moment, but she never did.

The Englishman sighed heavily. He was really becoming irritated with the questions. They were almost always the same question rephrased a few times before they actually turned into a different set of questions. "No. We were only in the room for a few minutes before you entered." Apparently she hated the idea of them raiding the room and preferred he explained it as entering the room instead.

"The man, did you recognize him?" Well, they'd finally moved onto a new question at least. It wasn't all the more helpful though. Based on the way she'd reacted in Buckingham Palace, she recognized the man.

"I've never seen him before."

"Do you think Mr. Jones has?"

"Well, he never mentioned anything."

"Are you sure? Never passed him on the street-"

Now Ron was growling in agitation. "Enough with the questions. Mr. Kirkland doesn't have any information." Arthur wasn't sure whether to be surprised or grateful that the questions were over. He was thankful that he might finally be able to get some more sleep, but he did want to help too. Despite his own irritation the sooner the Queen was found the better.

Ron pulled a book out from under the table. He must have been keeping it carefully hidden under there for the past few hours simply waiting for a good time to bring it out. The entire thing was leather, bound shut with a chained lock, which was surprising. Arthur studied it carefully. It looked old. It looked strangely familiar. The urge to reach out and run his fingers over it was overwhelming. It was like a piece of him was missing and if he could just hold the book that piece would fall easily back into place.

It terrified him.

Ron noticed his reaction.

"Do you have any idea what this is?"

Arthur denied knowing of it immediately. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen it before, held it, that it belonged to him but at the same time didn't. He wasn't about to tell Ron that though. Despite the desire to keep the book in his possession there was also a strong urge to deny any knowledge of the book. It was as if his life depended on that single fact. The book did not belong to him. "I have no idea what that is. A journal perhaps?"

Ron certainly didn't like that answer. That was clear enough on his face. "Would you happen to know how we could open it?" He showed the lock to Arthur with raised brows. The American was studying him quite thoroughly, gauging his every reaction.

"I would assume a key, or perhaps a chain cutter if you misplaced the key."

"That's the interesting thing," Ron said, explaining further, "no matter what is done to the chain it refuses to break. In fact, nothing we can do will make the slightest dent. I think you should see if you can get it to open if you don't believe me." He held the book out to the Englishman for him to take.

The urge to do as he was told was strong. The book wanted to be held by him as much as he wanted to hold it in return. He didn't dare touch it. "No, I quite believe you. It is quite interesting. I wonder, who did it belong to?"

"Well, there's the other interesting thing," Ron said. He was clearly disappointed that Arthur had refused to take the book. Instead he turned it over carefully in his hands. "It clearly has your name printed on the back." In small golden scrawl, 'Arthur Kirkland' was clearly embroidered there.

/These chapters just seem to keep getting longer! Was this one confusing at all? I thought it might be a bit. If there's anything you think should be added then leave a comment! (Not to mention that you should leave a comment simply out of the goodness of your heart because comments are literally the most wonderful thing in the world and keep me from getting all sad during the day.) /


	8. Darkness

(**Disclaimer: **I do not claim to own Hetalia: Axis Powers in any way.)

The pain was the first and most terrible thing. Pain in that magnitude shouldn't have been felt by anything living. It was a crime. Death would have been so much easier. Where was the fun in that though? Great. Now he was starting to feel like he was possessed by Alfred. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. For the fact he'd been shot, the American was dealing with the pain magnificently.

Well, this was interesting. Had he been shot as well then? No. That didn't seem right. There had been a gunshot though, Arthur remembered that. Didn't feel like there was blood on the floor, he was sure he would have noticed that. Had Ron been shot then? Or the woman? That didn't seem right either. Oh, yes, that was it. He remembered the book now, the way it had collided painfully with his head. Ron really was strong when he wanted to be.

So, the real question was where was he now. Well, that and the nearest place to find painkillers. The American had been right about Ron all along. It made sense really. Bloody hell, he really wanted some painkillers. Well, wasn't he just being coherent today? Great, now even his thoughts were beginning to give him a migraine. It was like first meeting Alfred all over again.

Where was the American? Was he around too? Arthur called out to him but the sound didn't travel far. He was in a room, of that he was certain. It seemed small by the way his voice traveled. Had he moved at all? Immediate inspection told him that the chair he'd been seated in was gone as was the table. That didn't mean they hadn't simply moved him across the room though. What was all this about anyway? It didn't make any sense. The book...well, that was a matter to be thought over when he didn't feel like this.

"Arthur?" Female, well it certainly wasn't Alfred. "Arthur, is that you?" The voice wasn't hoarse but it seemed that lack of use was wearing on it. That, or it had been tired to exhaustion from too much use. How was it that Alfred's voice never became like that?

Then it clicked. His mind was working slower than normal as well it would seem. He'd been though all this just for her. "Ma'am?"

/Author's Note: Yup! This part is really short given that I haven't posted in a while. I'll have the next part up in no time though!/


	9. Who You Are

(**Disclaimer: **I do not claim to own Hetalia: Axis Powers in any way.)

"Finally awake are we?" The light came on in a nearby blinding fashion compared to the darkness of before. It revealed a room that was unfamiliar, and with no outstanding features. From what Arthur could tell, they weren't in the house at all. Where were they exactly?

The American man came closer and Arthur moved away almost immediately with an angry hiss. He wasn't sure what Ron had to do with anything, but he wasn't about to take his chances. Alfred had always said he didn't trust the man; that he made it his goal to get Alfred into the most trouble he could. At the current point in time Alfred was really the only person on Earth that Arthur felt he could trust.

"I apologize for that rather nasty hit. I wish it could have been avoided." Despite Arthur's wish to stay away from the American, it didn't appear as if that wish was to be granted. The taller man gently stroked the Englishman's hair. Arthur pulled away angrily. "It's of no consequence really. You people never stay injured for long, do you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Arthur snapped at him. He batted the other man's hand away from him viciously. Ron simply laughed at the attempt before stepping away. The Queen's hand closed over his comfortingly. The woman's touch was incredibly relaxing after so much time away from her. He couldn't express how pleased he was to find her alive.

She spoke quietly. "Hush now, Arthur. Don't talk to him."

Of course, it was a stretch to think Ron hadn't heard her. The words were the only sound breaking the silence in not only the room but the entire vicinity. "Now you can be quiet," Ron snarled viciously. "I don't need you alive. Our dear Arthur is the important thing." Arthur did not like the American's voice nor the smirk that was playing over his lips. Arthur suddenly understood why his American didn't like the other.

"What use am I to you?"

There was a bit of hurt on Ron's face, but it was clearly plastered on there. "My dear Englishman, do you think so lowly of me? You are of so much use to me." He reached out to gently stroke the other's blond hair again. "Of course, Alfred's of much more use in the long run, but the chance to catch you wasn't something I could pass by." Ron smirked devilishly through his hurt.

Arthur bit the other man's hand when it came too close.

Ron pulled his hands back with a hiss, nursing it somewhat. Arthur was quite satisfied with himself when he noticed the blood beginning to pool at the surface. "You're quite a vicious little thing aren't you? I suppose that should make sense to me with how much you've been through, all the things you've done. You're all such murderers."

"If you're not going to explain, I suggest you don't bloody speak at all," Arthur snapped. He wasn't sure what was giving him the strength to risk his life lately. It might have been the head injury, or the helplessness of the situation, or simply because he was fed up with not knowing what was going on. Well, the last one seemed to be the most likely cause. He was tired of being left in the dark. He didn't want to be afraid anymore. This was his life, and he was tired of the ruins it was in.

"I figured the book would help you remember. It didn't? I was sure there was recognition in your eyes when you saw it." Ron cursed viciously under his breath. "I need you to remember. Why don't they remember?" He growled the last bit at the Queen who shrunk back somewhat from the man's cold tone. Arthur gripped her hand tighter. He wasn't going to leave her alone this time. No matter what happened, she wouldn't be alone.

Something had happened to her in the past six months. It really wasn't surprising given all the things she must have gone through. She wasn't the strong woman he'd left alone in America. That woman had since fled. Arthur saw her smile somewhat at him even as she stared determinedly at the ground. "I don't know why they won't remember. None of them do. I thought the book would help. I thought the book would make him remember."

"But it didn't!"

"Did he open it? Did he read it?"

"It's locked," Ron growled. He began to laugh after that. "But I don't have the key. That was something you made sure of wasn't it? You knew we would come for the book. You had the key destroyed so none of them could ever come back to their senses. The world will die because of what you've done. The countries will fall apart without their personifications to support them."

"The world will fall apart because you wish to destroy them."

"Not destroy them. No, no, no. I would never wish to do something as foolish as that. The countries are needed to keep the world in balance. Even if I were to destroy them, more would simply arise in their place. I know much more about these mechanics than you would dare to believe. There is a simple factor I don't understand though. Why do this to them in the first place? I've spent all my time trying to find a few of them, I haven't had the time to work out why they're like this in the first place."

The Queen remained stubbornly silent. The small spark of defiance made Arthur smile inwardly. Maybe his old Queen was still there yet, buried beneath all the layers on top, all the layers that made her quake in fear. He moved closer to her until their arms gently.

"Fine, don't tell me. It's of no consequence at the moment. All that matters is that he remembers. I want them to feel pain when their entire world comes crashing down. I mean that quite literally too."

* * *

><p>All right, now this was getting ridiculous. What could Arthur be saying that was taking him so long? He'd been out of his own story-telling for hours. Arthur was always telling him he could ramble on for ages. Arthur had no room to talk! This was taking much longer than him!<p>

Alfred groaned and flopped against the back of the couch. The house didn't even have a television to occupy his time. This was ridiculous. No television, no radio, no computer, and no Arthur. How did they expect him to survive like this?

"Ah, Amerique," Francis greeted him upon entering the room. His tone was cold, but Mattie had clearly settling him down. "I would have thought you to be with Angleterre." Alfred glared when he saw Mattie following the sleazy Frenchman in.

The American hated seeing the two of them together. Not to say that he wasn't happy that Mattie was in the house and safe. Was it jealousy? Well, Francis had invaded his life by being such good friends with both Mattie and Arthur. That couldn't be the answer though. He was a hero; heroes didn't get jealous. All right, so maybe a little bit.

"Arthur's still down with those people telling them what happened." Alfred heard the slight bitterness in his voice. He was being incredibly childish, but that didn't matter. He'd long ago become accustomed to being called childish. Arthur spent a great deal of his time informing him. "He's taking too long." He eyed the two blonds coming into the room. Mattie looked entirely uncomfortable.

Francis simply looked confused. "Angleterre isn't downstairs."

"He's not?"

The Frenchman simply shook his head. "They've been done down there for hours." Francis hesitated before sitting. "I'll go check if anyone else has seen him." He patted Matthew's head gently as he walked out of the door. Alfred was close on his heels.

"I'll come with you."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Amerique," Francis cautioned uncertainly. He paused in his steps to lay a cautioning hand on Alfred's shoulder. "I'm sure there is nothing wrong. You needn't worry yourself. Go keep Matthieu company." He shooed the American toward the room they'd just vacated. Alfred refused to move, and Matthew had soon come up behind his brother.

The Canadian's voice was quiet. The twins were such opposites, even down to their voices. They tended to correspond with letters across the border - their parents had divorced when they were just children so Mattie had grown up with their mother in Canada - but Alfred always remembered that it took a great deal of effort to hear Matthew over other people. It was always so easy to forget he was there for some reason. "I'm coming along too." Alfred couldn't help but smile gratefully at him.

Now that Alfred was actually paying attention to his primal instincts, he felt that something was terribly skewed. Something was definitely wrong. How could he have not noticed before? He dreaded what he would find when they went searching for the small, British blond. His heartbeat picked up dramatically at the fear that something had gone wrong.

"Where are you going?" The heavily accented voice accompanied the German, Ludwig. He seemed a little worse for wear. The America noticed the picture in his hand and knew immediately why Ludwig was in the house as well. Alfred was ashamed that he hadn't known the other was there. Alfred hoped that involving the German in his own troubles hadn't brought him there. Regardless, he couldn't help but feel relief. Ludwig was a strong figure. If something had happened to Arthur, he was sure that Ludwig would instantly offer to help find him. Alfred would be pleased to have Ludwig standing with him in this mess.

"It's an alliance then," Francis spoke quietly. "What a surprise to find Angleterre at the center of it all." The Frenchman was smiling a bit bitterly. Ludwig was giving the Frenchman an odd look of confusion. "Do you feel it?" Francis asked. He was staring at the German and American intently. Alfred just looked at him questioningly and with a bit of frustration. He didn't have time for this at the moment. He needed to find Arthur. That was all that mattered. When Francis received no answer, he shook his head. "Never mind. There will be time for that later."

An hour later found the four piled into a car. They'd found Juliet - Alfred had discovered her name from Ludwig - unconscious on the floor of one of the basement rooms. She had clearly been shot and while Ludwig had assured them all that she was alive, Alfred was almost certain that she wasn't breathing. She may have been alive after she'd been shot, but he was sure that she had died before they found her there.

That was all it took for Alfred to discover his mission. Someone had kidnapped Arthur, someone from inside this crazy organization, and he was going to find out who. The person who had dared do such a thing had better watch out. Alfred wasn't about to show them any mercy. If they'd harmed the Englishman in any way, they had better beg for mercy at his feet. He wasn't sure where the blood lust had come from, but he didn't care. They would pay for what they did to Arthur.

Despite all protests on the American's side, Francis was the one driving down the streets of London. Alfred kept growling at him to go faster until Francis snapped at him that they didn't even know where they were going. He pulled over on the side of one of the many roads immediately.

"Francis!" Alfred snarled, "What the hell? We have to find Arthur!"

Ludwig laid a comforting hand on the American's shoulder, but he just shrugged him off. He wasn't in the mood to be comforted. He was in the mood to maim and harm. Why the blood lust? It was almost painful to think like that, but it was more painful to think of Arthur's wrong-doers going free of punishment.

"We will, Amerique. First, I think it's time you remembered who you are."

/Author's Notes: It's up! Alfred's finally discovered that Arthur is missing and being the hero must find him! But will he? After all, Alfred's never been to London before. Arthur could be anywhere! But Francis seems to have something up his sleeve, right? What could he possibly know?

Not to mention that Ron guy, I mean, what's his deal? What is his personal agenda? What does the Queen have to do with any of this? Not to mention Arthur and that special little book. We haven't seen the President either. Where could he possibly be?

I'm not loving this chapter so much. In fact, I actually considered cutting the entire thing and restarting from scratch, which I pretty much did with how much I dissected it after it was written. Tell me what you think! ^^ What do you think will happen next? /


	10. Remember

(**Disclaimer: **I do not claim to own Hetalia: Axis Powers in any way.)

A pained moan escaped from the American's lips. He clutched his head as the pain there increased. He didn't dare touch the jacket that Mattie was holding out to him. Even at glance at the fabric made him cringe as another wave of pain washed over him.

"Alfred, I know it hurts, but could you put it on?" Mattie's voice was soft, but it still felt like someone was racking their nails down a chalkboard. "You used to love this coat. You would go anywhere without it."

"I've never seen that coat before," Alfred replied after a hesitant pause. He shook violently as he back into a chair. He collapsed in it with a heavy sigh. The American felt his eyes prickle at the corners. The pain was really getting to him, but he refused to cry in front of his brother.

"The faster you come to terms with who you are the sooner we'll have the chance to go find Arthur." Francis came forward and took the bomber jacket from the Canadian. "Put the jacket on, Amerique." There was no room for argument in the Frenchman's voice.

"But I wouldn't do those things!" Bombs burst in the air to send people scattering away in fear. Screams of fear split the air while the sound of muskets was almost a normal occurrence. "I couldn't kill all those people!"

There was a grim satisfaction in the Frenchman's voice. "Oh, really? What do you think of when you think of dear Angleterre's captors? Aren't you angry? Don't you just want to force justice upon them?"

"Well, yeah! They deserve to be punished for hurting Arthur!" Alfred's head fell into his hands as he moaned quietly. "Gawd, my head hurts."

"You're battling with yourself, Amerique. Accept yourself. You want to punish Anleterre's captors because of your strong sense of justice, you've always been unusually strong for a human for a reason, and how else would you explain your instant attraction to dear Angleterre? Of all the nations, the two of you found each other. The both of you have always been connected."

Alfred shook his head vigorously. "I'm Alfred F. Jones, I am twenty years old. I grew up in Massachusetts with - no. I grew up in New York." Alfred finished his ramble with an agitated noise. "I don't understand." His fingers dug into the gentle locks of his hair.

"You're at war with yourself, Amerique. You certainly have an eventful history. It makes sense. Just relax and embrace who you are." The Frenchman made a soothing motion with his hands. Matthew gently patted his brother's shoulder.

It was the gruff German accent that finally caused Alfred to look up. "Stand sharp," the man told the American. "You're a country whether you like it or not. Get your act together or we're all doomed."

"He's not ready to accept it yet, Ludwig." Matthew's hand ran gently over his brother's back. There was both concern and reproach in the normally calm tone. "Leave him alone."

"Even Germany has come to terms with his with than you do. Amerique-"

"Stop calling me that!" The American growled under his breath. "Besides," Alfred added quietly, "if I'm really America and Arthur is actually England than we're not together and he doesn't love me."

"Oh, ami," Francis might as well have purred, "is that what your big dilemma is all about?' The Frenchman sat down on the other side of the American. "you love him, no? Country or not?" Alfred simply nodded tiredly. "Then why should it change for him?"

Alfred shook his head. "We have too much history between us as countries. I've done too much to him. He'll never forgive me, and he'll never even consider taking me back."

"Then find him," Francis urged beside him. "Find him and rewrite all that history."

Ragged breaths came from the American. Finally he silenced himself. He stood up and held his hands out to the Frenchman. "Give me my jacket, we're going to go find Arthur, Gilbert, and the President and make the people who took them pay for what they did."

"That's more like it, Amerique."

* * *

><p>Quiet emerald eyes watched the scene before him unfold. The owner couldn't hear what was happening due to the glass wall, but he thought he could figure it out. There was an argument going on. It was probably due to the choice in kidnapees. Not to mention that Ron Butcher didn't seem to like wield information on the purpose of the operation to begin with.<p>

Ron's hand came up to meet the other man's face, and the argument immediately came to a close. Ron came storming out of the room and toward the cage where Arthur had been removed to. The Queen was sleeping in the cell next to him and the President was situated in the one on his other side. The man seemed to be in much worse shape than the Queen. He'd probably taken quite a few of her hits. Arthur couldn't feel more grateful.

"This is my operation," he snarled. "They don't understand." The book came from the inside of Ron's jacket and into his hands. It seemed to be the man's hobby, trying to figure out how the worn, leather book opened. Arthur just sighed and leaned back against his chair. Another long hour of waiting. Where was Alfred?

* * *

><p><em>One Hour Later<em>

"I still don't see how this is going to help us," America complained as they continued their trek. They'd had to abandon the car almost a quarter mile away when the road ended. Soon after the cold, London drizzle had began. Now all three nations were walking through soggy grass, shivering.

"London's a rather large place, if you didn't notice," Francis explained again. He was quickly growing weary of the impatient American. "There is no chance that we will find Angleterre by luck alone. We need other resources."

"Do the other resources have to be in the middle of no where? I say we just break down the door of the nearest police station and demand to know what they know."

France sighed in irritation. He tutted the young nation in disapproval. "They will know nothing, Amerique. Besides, would you still happen to have your nation identification because that will be the only way to remove you from prison when you are sent there. I assure you this way will be the fastest way to find Angleterre. London is a network of connections."

"We are all bound together whether we remember it or not. The nations have been flocking to London for years," Germany added. He'd remained silent most of their trip and when he spoke now his voice was still rough and reserved. "It's the same reason Gilbert and I wished to move here. We were all being drawn together."

France nodded. "Exactly. Someone is sure to have heard what happened to Angleterre or at least heard something that may help us find him. Needless to say, I believe we are at war here and if we are, we're going to need all the help we can get."

/Author's Note: I know, this is way overdue. I just haven't had time to work on it lately, thus its shortness and lack of editing. I literally wrote this part twice and scraped it before coming up with this product. Sad part is, I'm still not sure how I feel about it.

Well, let me know what you think! /


	11. The Rescuers

(**Disclaimer: **I do not claim to own Hetalia: Axis Powers in any way.)

Eight nations blinked wearily in the warehouse lights. Many of them were quick to embrace their old nature. The normal humans had been herded out of the make-shift bar though there hadn't been that many to deal with. Most of them had been completely drunk anyway.

"We're drawn together," Canada said quietly. "It's how we've always been. When trouble comes, we always seem to find each other."

"We must be drawn to each other or something, eh, France?" America told France. Certainly they weren't their human selves anymore. There was no need to use such trivial names. He was a nation, he wasn't human, why try to pretend he was something he wasn't? That was something he'd been doing for many years now. He was finally ready to come back to himself. He'd missed the good ole' United States. He missed his people.

Some of them were starting to come out of their stunned slumber. Apparently that was how most of the nations reacted to discovering their legacy over again. A select few weren't dealing with the conversion quite as easily though. They'd mostly been pacified however. Now they were rising from their seats to greet each other and talk happily. Despite their differences there was always time for a good truce for a good cause.

France smiled at him somewhat. "Of course, Amerique."

An almost nervous tone came to America's voice. "You know," he began with a bit of embarrassment. He rubbed the back of his neck to calm himself. "Just, thanks for all that stuff you do for me. I really appreciate it. I know I helped cause the Revolution over there for you too. I mean, that was a really bad time over there and everything..."

"Do not mention it, Amerique. That is the long past. My people needed a Revolution almost as much as yours did. I am all the better because of it." He winked over at the American. His expression soon sobered though. "I do hope we will find Angleterre soon. There are many things I must apologize to him for as well."

"Y'know, I was so against all this turning us back into humans thing," America admitted. He looked over the countries hugging each other with pleased smiles. They had never been like this before. Bloodshed. That was their past. Each and every one of them had seen so much bloodshed. The young ones drug in violently by the older ones. None of that was visible now. Now all that could be seen was pure joy at simply being in the company of each other after so long.

"I think many of us were. Maybe not vocally, but all of us had our doubts."

"But it was actually a good idea. Whoever actually went through with the act has got to be somebody pretty awesome. I've never seen any of us get along this well." He was even glad to see Russia out there. The freezing nation was smiling brightly and even some of the more timid nations felt no reservations when speaking with him.

An amused chuckle came from the Frenchman's lips. "Angleterre did this."

Surprise lit up America's features. "England made us all like this?" That couldn't be. Of all the nations, England had been the one to voice his protests the most. He had loathed the very idea of being turned into a simple human. He thought it to be un-gentlemanly or something like that. America was displeased to remember that he hadn't actually paid all that much attention to the protests. He'd ignored England a lot over the past years. He was determined to fix that. He'd show England just how much he loved him.

France simply nodded. "He was quite determined when he finally decided to do it. He wasn't going to. It was you who changed his mind, Amerique. He did this for you."

"For me?"

"He wanted to forget you."

* * *

><p>Was it night or morning? Arthur couldn't tell. He tired to gauge it on the sleeping patterns of the Queen and the President at first but soon discovered that they were rather unreliable clocks. With little will left after their six months in solitude they slept more of ten than not and rarely talked.<p>

The blond scanned the walls for any points of escape. To his knowledge there was only one door that went both in and out of the building. There was a flight of stairs leading downward a few feet away. While Arthur was certain it would be easier to arrive at, he didn't want to risk a dead-end. He was certain that he wouldn't be able to fight his way back out.

There was a minimal amount of guards - only two that Arthur had seen, other than Ron - and it appeared that they hated to change shifts. The shift change was always delayed and unorganized. Arguing usually ensued between the two guards.

The only direct sets of lights were over top of Ron's desk across the room - he was normally there working tiredly at the book - shining directly at the exit - the guard next to it was obscured in shadow - and one on each of their prisoners.

"Don't even think of trying to escape, Mr. Kirkland." Ron passed by with some comment or another a few times every hour. "Your boss has tried multiple times with no success. You see their depression, right? Why bother? There's nothing out there for you. You're wanted in the United Kingdom, your queen is here, and Alfred didn't even bother to come after you."

Arthur resisted a hurt flinch. Of course Alfred was coming for him eventually. How could the other not? Then again, it had been hours, hours and still he had heard nothing from the American. Maybe he wasn't coming. Why should he come? There really was no reason for him to. Their romance had been one born from adrenaline and loneliness. Well, it seemed like he was going to have to make his way out of this one by himself.

A dangerous lint came to Ron's eyes. "What are you planning?"

Arthur simply smirked back at him. He'd come to London in search of answers to solve his problems. All he had received was more questions. "I'm planning lots of things," he hissed snidely but honestly at the other man. His smirk widened. "Would you like to know the best part of my plans?" Arthur plowed forward without bothering with an answer from Ron. "There's absolutely nothing you can do about it."

"Would you like to say that again?" the American snarled. It was clear he was already irritated. The leather book with its impossible seal was clearing giving him grief. The more trouble that was being given to the American the more fun his job was going to be now.

A smile lightened once again. "I'd be more than happy to repeat it for you if you'd like."

Ron's hand raised in a motion to strike down the troublesome Englishman. He growled in irritation and lowered his hand. "You're just trying to rile me up," Ron let out a sigh and a chuckle. "This is the perfect prison. It's so simple and well-organized. You won't escape until it's too late." Arthur wasn't about to tell him it wasn't nearly as organized as he thought.

"Oh, yes, the perfect prison." Arthur nodded sagely. Ron was watching him in fascination, but he chose to ignore that. "I'm absolutely terrified," he spat. The American grimaced in something akin to anger. However, he let out another chuckle that calmed himself immediately.

The ex-service agent nodded. "It really is," he informed the Englishman. "you may be able to escape alone, but could you leave the Queen? What about the President? They've been here a long time. They'll never to able to make it out. Would you leave them to die?"

Arthur just smirked at him. "In a heartbeat," he answered. "It's really only my own skin I'm out to save here." Ron just returned his smirk. There was disbelief in the complete lie of a phrase. They both knew that it was a complete and utter fabrication.

"I'm sure you are." Ron shook his head with a smile as if he were an amused parent who had just watched their child pull a completely ridiculous stunt. "You've always been out for yourself after all." He'd apparently given up on the conversation at that point, he probably was a busy man. Arthur wasn't about to let him go yet though. He hadn't yet received his answers.

"What exactly would be your bloody problem anyway?" Arthur let the comment came out as the angry snarl that it was intended to be. He glared furious daggers over at the other man. Ron paused in his crisp steps and turned to look at the Englishman maliciously.

"What exactly is my problem?"

"That's what I asked."

The crisp steps with polished shoes against the concrete floor brought Ron back over to the cell. He pulled a key from his pocket and inserted it quickly into the cell before stepping inside. He let the door hand open behind him, and Arthur refused to let his eyes glide calculatingly over it. It would only rise more suspicions.

"What exactly is my problem?" Ron's smirk was really starting to worry Arthur now. In fact, it hadn't started as a smirk. When he entered the cage, he'd looked positively furious. Now he'd fallen into an almost crazed, happy state. "_You_ are my problem. Don't you remember me?"

Remember him? From before America? The man's features were unfamiliar, but yet...the slight slip in his voice, the slight _accent_...that was definitely something that had to be listened for. The man enunciated things in an odd way, or at least, in an odd way for an _American_.

"You're British!"

"Congratulations," Ron snorted in disdain. "That's the problem with all you people. You never bother to remember those you've done wrong to. Let me shed some light on the matter. I was an up and coming member of the MI5. I was being enlisted to one of the highest units. Then you know what happened? A certain Arthur Kirkland saw me in training one day and said I wasn't good enough for the MI5. The captains that had been impressed with me no longer agreed I was fit to be in their organization either. _You ruined my life."_

The back of Ron's hand finally rose to met the side of Arthur's face. The blond Englishman stumbled back. "I've been been to the MI5!" He racked his mind for any time he may have followed the Queen to the institution. none came to the front of his mind.

"Leave him, Mr. Butcher, he doesn't remember who he was, and he never went there as he is now." The Queen was watching, pleadingly through from her prison to theirs.

It made sense now, the secret agenda that Ron had been going through. Given the right resources Ron could have easily slipped himself into the Secret Service. From there all he had to do was wait for the right opportunity to take the Queen and President. Revenge could easily be obtained from there.

Shaking himself from his stupor, Arthur asked, "But why kidnap the Queen let alone the President if I was all you were really after?"

Ron turned the key in the lock, caging Arthur back in with himself. He'd missed his opportunity to escape while the door had been open. It would have been futile though. He still needed a way to release both the President and Queen before he made his own escape.

Before Ron was given the chance of answered the question with some sort of sneer, a siren went off above the door. Flashing light illuminated the building. Ron pulled a gun from his waistband, but it was too late to shoot. A rather large figure came from behind him, almost childish grin on the stranger's face.

"Wha-"

"Hey, Russia! We've got more guys down here!" The tall stranger simply smiled at him before turning to the staircase. Francis was standing there with Matthew at his side. The tall man with his flowing scarf led them down the staircase. Francis sent a wave before heading down.

Arthur was about send a startled and angry call after him, but khaki pants came into his field of vision and were a little more demanding for his attention. Blue eyes met green and suddenly Arthur's heart skipped. How could he have doubted Alfred! But something about the Alfred looking at him made the Englishman want to back up in fear. He was both overjoyed to see him and felt the need to bawl at the same time.

"Hey, Iggy," the American said with a smile and suddenly Arthur _remembered._

* * *

><p><em>One Hour Earlier<em>

"This is great, Switzerland!" America poured over the diagrams Switzerland had been so kind to obtain. Apparently a certain 'Mr. Butcher' had been renting some of the Swiss man's properties in the area. The American hadn't been very observant with whom he'd purchased his properties with.

France appeared over his shoulder to examine the maps as well. "It was the least we could do." There was little emotion in the Swiss man's voice when he spoke, but he seemed angrier than the other nations had ever seen him. He'd always been a serious nation to deal with but now he felt threatened. They all did. Switzerland put a protecting arm around Liechtenstein, bringing her closer to himself.

"We should split into groups," Germany stated rather than suggested. He was seated at the table next to America. The German nation pointed to the back gate. "We'll all have to enter the same way, but single groups should enter at a time. Take down all immediate threats and find the missing nations. That's our goal. We'll deal with this Ron Butcher when everything is finished."

"I'll lead the way with Canada, France, and China. Germany you take the second assult with Russia and Japan. Spain, you and Romano make sure no one gets in or out after we go in. Switzerland, you make sure Liechtenstein and Poland stay safe," America announced.

The map was passed around upon approval of the plan. Once examined the twelve nations filed out and into separate vehicles. As France pulled into the lead of the group, America looked out the window at his side. His hand cupped his chin as he watched the omonious clouds outside. Fiery blue eyes dared for anyone to try to step into his way.

/Author's Notes: So, I really don't have time to edit this right now so just tell me if I messed anything up too badly! I'm predicting...one more part? That sounds good to me. Just a bit of a wrap-up of what happens after all of this. (Yes, I know I left out the actions scene. I really can't write them, so I felt it would be better just not not add it in...)

So, what do you think will happen next? What will happen to the President and Queen? What about Ron? What is that book all about anyway? Why'd England make all the nations human anyway? But most importantly; will England and America end up together in the end? Let me know what you think! Reviews=love as always ^^\


	12. History

(**Disclaimer: **I do not claim to own Hetalia: Axis Powers in any way.)

Polished, brown shoes clicked quietly against the marble floor underfoot. A tie was straightened with a bothered motion. "England. I'm here to see the Queen." England flashed his identification to the guard when he appeared the desk at the front of Buckingham Palace.

The guard smiled. It wasn't someone England immediately recognized, and that distressed him more than he could say. He couldn't help but glance behind himself every few minutes in fear of being followed. "It's good to have you back, sir," the man said before letting him pass into Buckingham Palace. "It has been a long time."

"It's been a very long time," England agreed. It had been years since he'd entered Buckingham Palace as a nation rather than a human. Even if the transformation had been his doing it was good to be a nation again.

England had been warded away from Buckingham Palace for the past week. He'd been told that bed rest would be his best cure for what he'd gone through. Really, his injuries had been all that severe. The Queen had been welcomed home to her country with pleased celebrations, though she hadn't been allowed to attend any of them due to her own health.

The nation had simply watched the celebrations from his apartment window. He hadn't had the heart to join into them himself. He'd wanted to see and talk to the Queen for himself, but until he'd received a bill of health he'd been disallowed to come.

England knocked quietly on the Queen's door. A male voice welcomed him in. England stepped through the doors sheepishly. The Queen was resting in her bed though she was up and awake. It seemed the physician was going through the last bits of a daily routine for he soon left the two of them alone.

Quietly the blond nation came forward to sit beside his queen. He wasn't sure what to say, let alone how to begin a conversation with her. "England," she smiled. She laid her hand over his own. "I would have thought you'd have been on the first flight over to America. I'm sure the two of you miss each other."

_The moment the cell door clicked open, England found himself bundled up into America's arms. The Englishman couldn't help but struggle at the immediate contact. The gentle scent of the American was so _familiar._ The scent of the bomber jacket had been long missed. _

_England slowly gave into the contact, threading his fingers through America's hair as the other blond kissed desperately at his lips. "Let's get you out of here," the American said between kisses. Neither of them made to leave the cell. They simply gloried in the contact that was the other. The Englishman forced down the feelings that the contact was so incredibly wrong. He'd missed the American too much. "Gawd, I'm so sorry I didn't get here sooner."_

_Tender fingers touched his cheek, and England realized there must have been a rather nasty bruise forming there. England simply began to unwork the buttons on America's cotton shirt. The fabric was soft under his fingers, but he wanted to touch the smooth, lean muscle underneath._

_"He hurt you, I'm going to kill him."_

_"Don't care," England breathed against the other's neck. "It will heal. America!" The American had just laid a rather sharp bit to his collarbone. England forced the other to meet their lips again. The older nation wrapped his legs around the other's hips. He buried his head against America's neck, leaving a tender trail of kisses._

_"As much as it displeases me to cut this short, we really must be on our way. Come along, lovebirds." France just had to be the one to break them apart. One of Prussia's arms was slung around Russia's shoulders while the large nation supported the albino. Germany was carrying the younger of the two Italian nations. Canada and France were both helping the President and Queen respectively._

A frown formed on the Queen's painted lips. "How is America doing, England? Surely you've spoken with him since he left for America with the President." England pulled his hand out from under the Queen's. He stood from his seat without answering. How could he tell her about what happened at the airport?

_America smiled at the healed Englishman. The bruise against his cheek was already fading into nonexistence. It had been two days since the rescue from captivity. They hadn't seen each other since they'd pulled America from his hospital room._

_A late flight had been booked for the President and America's trip back to Washington. The tall blond wrapped him in a tight hug. "I'll miss you, Iggy, but I promise to come visit as soon as I can!" He leaned in for a kiss that England immediately shied away from. "Iggy?" There was a bit of concern in the American's voice, but his optimism seemed to have no end._

_England stepped back from the embrace. "I don't think that's such a good idea, America." He didn't dare face the other nation. He couldn't bare to see the hurt that was sure to be reflected there._

_"What'dya mean, Iggy?"_

_The island nation cleared his voice, "That would be England or United Kingdom, America, not Iggy." He let out a small cough into his palm. "We have _history _now, America. I don't think I can be with you knowing what I do now._

"England, you didn't," the Queen breathed. "America is probably devastated!"

"I couldn't be with him, ma'am." England had crossed the room to one of the large picturesque windows. "Did you know I turned us all human just to get away from him? I couldn't be near him anymore." His arms folded before himself. "I almost had everyone killed because of him."

"You didn't cause any harm though. It is a great relief to know you are the one who caused this. Five years without the nations, the President and I were beginning to worry. That was why I was in America. England, come over here, please." The Englishman frowned but did as he was instructed. The Queen reached over to open the drawer beside her bed. She pulled out a certain leather-bound book. "I believe this belongs to you."

She handed the book over to the Englishman. The blond ran his fingers over the familiar leather cover. His journal. It had been a long time since he'd made an entry in the book. He easily tugged the strap from around it to open to the contents within. The lock that had puzzled Ron Butcher for hours easily opened to his touch.

"Thank you," he murmured with a gentle smile.

"I think you should read through some of your entries, England, and see why you really made yourself human again. I think you may be lying to yourself, and unfortunately you have been for a long time."

"Yes, ma'am."

His shoes tapped lightly against the floor as he neared the exit. "Oh, and, England?" He turned to watch her with questioning, green eyes. "The news reports say that I tall, unidentified figure broke into Ron Butcher's prison cell and murdered him last night."

"Did they now?"

"They said he looked like he'd just leapt out of an old history book, German uniform and all. Would you happen to have any details concerning our potential murderer?"

"I have no idea who that could have been, ma'am."

She smiled lightly. "I thought as much."

* * *

><p>The steps up to his apartment were easily followed. Had he not been living there for nearly decades he could have easily missed a few dips in the ground and fallen to his knees. England's attention was not focused on his footwork. Rather, it was focused on the journal in his hands. He rarely went back to read past entries. They tended to fill him with sadness at the inner workings of his life.<p>

_Third of October,_

_America was being a rather large prat this evening. I sometimes wonder why I ever put up with him._

Many of the entries were rather sort like that of the third of October. Others held a bit more length too them. The Fifth of December was a good indication of that.

_Fifth of December,_

_We had the last meeting of the year today. I am not sure whether or not to be pleased that another year has come and gone or whether to be displeased that I will not be enjoying anyone's company for Christmas. I always tell the others that I do not care that I have no family that visits me or invite me to their own Christmases. I know that Sealand will be staying with the Nordics for the holidays and that Wales is having Christmas this year. I am sure that even Scotland will attend on Christmas day._

_Canada is staying with France, the bloody frog, and America is having a party of his own. Everyone was invited to his party, well, except me of course. He never invites me to these things anymore. Not since I made a fool of myself at his birthday a few years ago by drinking too much._

_I almost miss those invitations now._

The only thing that each entry had in common was that despite the length, month, or time of year, America always managed to find a way into the entries. He showed up without fail for years back as England flipped through what was the inner workings of his mind. Other nations were rarely mentioned at best, not even his brothers, but America found himself on ever page.

What did it mean?

"Iggy!"

Near collision with another body startled the Englishman. He dropped the journal to the ground in surprise. He blinked in wonderment at the tall blond American who was reaching down to retrieve the dropped journal. His bomber jacket fit snugly on his shoulder, obviously pleased to be there.

"Eighteenth of April," America began to read as he stood. England was simply frozen in horror as the American began to read from the journal. "The Queen tells me I spend too many of my days inside. She doesn't think it's good for my health. It's always raining though. It's been raining quite a lot lately, ever since the rumour reached me that America finds me absolutely repulsive. I don't know why I care so much."

With a slight clearing of the throat, America flipped to a new page, a more recent one. England just watched in abstract horror, unable to stop the other or tear his eyes away. What would the other say? Tears gathered in England's eyes as America continued to read aloud.

"Twenty-third of March. I'm going to do it today. My two months of preparation are finally finished. Now I won't have to deal with all the drama, the bloody prats, and the fighting any longer. I won't have to deal with America either. I'll finally be free from him." The American paused. "There's nothing written after that. What took you two months to finish?"

The Englishman had to recuperate the ability to formulate words before he could answer. "The chalk circles in my basement. I needed them to center my magic and make sure that everyone was included in my spell."

"So that's how you feel about us then. I'm just a big mistake that you couldn't deal with anymore." There was hints of anger in America's voice. England tore his eyes away to hide the steadily gathering tears. He didn't want America to think he was a burden. The English nation simply nodded for lack of a better answering system. "Well, I don't think we're a mistake."

"'We'?"

"If there's one thing being human taught me, it was to love again. It showed me just how short my life could be and how to live like it could be my last, because we're all on such borrowed time. History can be rewritten, England."

"But people can't," England protested, "nations can't which makes your argument invalid. If nations can't be rewritten, than neither can history! That's what makes it history, America!" England wasn't sure when his voice had risen to a yell. People paused in the streets to look up at the pair on the stairs.

Arms wrapped around the Englishman. They were gentle but held him tight enough that he'd actually have to fight to escape their grasp. "If nations can't be rewritten, then why do I love you so much? Isn't that why you made us all human again, so that we could find each other and fall in love without that history between us?"

"I changed us so I wouldn't have to watch the hatred in your eyes."

"I never hated you."

"You had a funny way of showing it."

"Are you saying that all that happened when we were human doesn't matter. I don't want it to not matter." America's nose found itself buried in the smaller nation's short hair. "I'll rewrite all the history I have to if it will make you love me again."

England turned himself around in the American's loose grip. He returned the embrace by wrapping his arms around the taller nation's neck. He pressed his lips against America's surprised one, closing his eyes in contentment. Upon overcoming his shock, America's hand reached up to bury itself in England hair, pulling them closer together.

"Why don't we just forget our history and create a future."

* * *

><p><em>Two Years Later<em>

"I hate the ocean," America grumbled over breakfast. He jabbed unhappily at his scrambled eggs the mood for eating long past. England simply looked up over his own plate at his blond companion. America's chin was propped up unhappily on his hand while he pushed his food moodily around on his plate. It was unusual for the American not to eat.

"You're always trying to make me go into the ocean," England stated. He looked back down at the paper laid out over the table for himself. America was always trying to get him into the ocean along the coast of California. The island nation refused more often than not until America pulled away his book and drug him into the water.

"Not _that_ ocean. I mean the big one between my place and yours."

A long sigh came from America's lips, and England couldn't help but smile with a bit of endearment. He set down his fork quietly and walked over to the other from across the table. America lifted his head to look over at the older nation. A smile began to tug at his lips, as England sat down on his lap.

"We still see each other often enough, America." He smiled at the other nation as he wrapped his arms around America's neck. He allowed America to reach up until their lips met before resting their foreheads together.

America protested with a, "Nu-uh."

"Well, then, I better make up for that before you have to leave tomorrow." A smile finally formed on America's lips. He nodded to the Englishman who was already pressing gentle kisses to his jawline. America took a firm hold of England by the loops on his pressed pants, pulling him closer with a vicious tug. A sharp cry of surprise left his lips, but America pressed their lips together to quiet him.

"You're making up for it awesomely."

"Don't say things like that."

"Awesomely?"

"Exactly."

"Aww, come on, you like it." America chuckled happily before nipping sharply just below the Englishman's jaw. The moment the American pulled away England pulled away and put a hand over the spot. America simply watched him with disappointment when England reeled back to lean against the table.

"I told you not to do that!" He was glaring at America who began to frown again. "You know I hate it when you do that."

America began to smile again. He placed his hands on England's hips. "Come on, Iggy, you like it." He leaned up to kiss the Englishman's lips, but England just pulled back further and pushed the other's hands away from him. "Hey, Iggy, you know I love you."

England snorted. "Really?" he spat, "because you have a funny way of showing it."

"Aww, Iggy." The young nation began to pout, his lower lip pressed out. England suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth and looked at the America in complete horror. His eyes widened in surprise. "Iggy? What's wrong?" There was worry lacing the other's tone now. "Is there something on my face?" He pulled off his glasses and proceeded to rub at his face vigorously.

America paused when England pulled his hands away from his face. "There's nothing wrong with your face." A smile tugged at his lips again. "That's...that's just the first fight we've had in...a long time." England wrapped his arms back around the other's neck, burying his face against the cool flesh of America's neck. "I love you too."

When he overcame his surprise, America allowed himself to smile. "It was just a little fight, Iggy," America informed him. Nevertheless, he wrapped his arms around the other, pulling him into a close hug. "We're going to be fine," he promised the other, because he knew that was all that England wanted to hear. America wouldn't let their history repeat.

/Author's Note: It's done! It's taken months, but it's finally done! I'm not sure whether I'm happy about that or not yet...I suppose that means that I just have to start another one! I'm not sure what it's going to be yet!

The original part twelve didn't have the last half, it ended at the doorstep to England's flat, but I decided later to add in the 'two years later' section.

I hope everyone enjoyed, and I can't thank everyone enough for all their wonderful comments! They made me stick with this story all the way through, even when I was hating on some of the middle chapters. Thank you for all the support! ^.^ \


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